


Again

by Eastwind99



Category: Santa Barbara (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Deception, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Forgiveness, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secrets, Sex, Trauma, referenced miscarriage, road to hell is paved with good intentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27473011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastwind99/pseuds/Eastwind99
Summary: She wakes up in a hospital with no memory due to a severe accident. The man beside her tells her he's her husband. What other choice does she have but to believe him?
Relationships: Mason Capwell/Mary Duvall
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happened after re-watching a weird little soap opera from days of yore on YouTube. But the Mason/Mary story needed some fixing, so here we go. 
> 
> I'm so sorry. I blame YouTube.

She's trapped in the pitch-black darkness, screams echoing around her. The darkness dissolves into thin air and the noise is hitting her from all fronts. The yells around her. The howl of the wind. The wail from the metal.

His cry.

The second she opens her eyes, the noise disappears. She's awake, but drowsy from the sleep - too drowsy. This isn't normal sleep. She pushes against a thick, gray fog that envelopes her, lost to where she is. She looks around in an empty, white room with monitors humming around her. Is she alone in a hospital? 

No, not alone. Somebody is beside her, clutching her hand. A man’s cheek is pressed against the back of her hand. His eyes are closed but his lips are moving. She can’t make out the words.

Even in his tailored suit, the man looks somewhat unhinged and unkempt. His dark hair is too long, and she wants to run her fingers through it. Should she tell him he needs a shave and possibly a haircut? 

No, she should focus.

She squeezes the stranger’s hand, and he opens his eyes, his expression uncomprehending.

"Mary, you're awake!" 

His voice cuts through the fog. He says that name with so much emotion like it means something. It doesn't to her. His dark eyes are clear and direct. And kind. He has kind eyes. 

She tries to speak, but cannot. He picks up on her confusion, when she doesn't reply and just stares at him.

"Mary, it's me, Mason. You must remember me, right?"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't, Mr...?” Her voice is rough and strange.

"Capwell." All color drains from his face. "Mason Capwell."

She's conflicted. He looks as lost as she feels, but she needs to anchor herself to someone. At the moment, he is the only tether she has to help her navigate through the haze of confusion. She wants to comfort this distraught stranger but doesn't know how. It's not like she knows him. She wants to trust him, but how does one trust a perfect stranger? 

“I see.” 

"Do you... do you remember anything?"

Her thoughts are slow but she knows her name is Mary because he says so. The rest is darkness. It's not the confusion from her medication either. The medicine muddles her thoughts, but it shouldn't make her blank completely. The more she tries to remember, the more lost she feels in the darkling shadows. 

"No." 

Her immediate concern is not to break down in front of him when the realization crashes down on her with its full weight. She doesn’t know what’s true or not. She forces herself to remain calm because she doesn't know how Mr. Capwell would react. Who is he?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Capwell, but how do I know you?" She struggles to keep her voice even.

"You're-" His voice falters before he continues, tentatively. "Mrs. Capwell. You're my... wife." 

He looks at her attentively, waiting for her reaction. Like he wants to make sure she believes him. She lets out a laugh. She doesn't mean to. She feels bad when there's a flash of sadness in his eyes. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just... I know you as well as I know myself, as in not at all." 

She looks down at her hand and touches the ring on her finger. It brings her some comfort.

"It's alright, Mary, you don't need to worry about me." This time there's certainty in his tone. "I'm your husband, it's my job to take care of you."

He squeezes her hand gently, and she wonders why he doesn’t have a ring on his finger. She doesn’t ask but smiles instead, because she doesn't want to upset Mr. Capwell any further. That small gesture lights up his whole face, which sparks a warm feeling in her. She decides she likes him the best when he's happy. 

Mr. Capwell seems to be able to predict her every need before she can even say them out loud. A glass of water, a comforting smile, a gentle touch. Then again, he touches her constantly, as if he’s not quite sure she’s really there. Alive, awake again.

She understands that the name "Capwell" means something to the doctors and nurses around her when they attend to her. It's in the way they treat him, and by extension, her. They don't challenge any of his requests, and make sure she has everything she could possibly need at all times. He barely leaves her side to make sure she's in no pain or discomfort, which is nice but inconvenient. The morphine syringe driver keeps the pain out of her reach, but her constant morphine haze makes it hard for her to concentrate. Apart from him, it blurs out the rest of the world. He’s the only one she can hold on to in her new, confusing reality. 

The drug dulls her senses when she needs to focus. Who is she? Why is she in the hospital? 

Since she can't reach her memories either, she reaches out to him - her husband. Her marriage has to be the one thing she can rely on, even when she can’t remember the man she’s married to. Maybe he can hear her thoughts, because he smiles reassuringly. His hand is warm and his hold firm when he takes her outreached hand into his. She smiles back, her nervousness subsiding at least a little bit. 

Instinctively, she entwines her fingers with Mr. Capwell's when her doctor, Dr. Nasch enters the room. She can't help but to expect bad news from him, it's in his job description as a doctor. No bad news this time, just a strange scene that unfolds before her eyes when the doctor addresses her as Mrs. McCormick.

Who's Mrs. McCormick? She's Mrs. Capwell.

She’s jolted out of her drugged numbness when Mr. Capwell clenches his hand into a fist so tight it turns white. She's not sure he's aware of the discomfort he's causing her, because her own hand is trapped in his. 

That's the first time she sees anger darkening Mr. Capwell's face. There's something volatile in his eyes, the kindness from before nowhere to be seen. No matter that the target of his ire is the poor doctor, it makes her instinctively want to shy away from him. She can’t, his hold is too tight.

"Mr. Capwell?"

The moment he hears her voice, it startles him. He looks down at his hand and immediately lets go of hers, only now aware of his reaction. He gets up to rush the doctor out of the room, most likely to have some choice words with him. She can't hear what those words are, but she can tell he's still bothered when he returns back to her.

"I hope you weren't too angry with him, Mr. Capwell. I'm sure it was an honest mistake, right? Names got mixed?" She has to ask.

"Honest or dishonest, it was an unforgivable one. You're suffering from amnesia, I can't have anyone confuse you any further - least of all your doctor. He’s supposed to treat you, not distract you. It must be frightening to not know who you are, or who to trust." 

"I'm fine, Mr. Capwell... well, clearly not fine, but I'm sure I'll get my memory back in no time." She keeps her voice as steady as possible, unsure of his reaction.

"I know you will, Mary, and I'm going to do everything in my power to help you, which is why I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?" He deliberately softens his voice as he sits on her bed.

"I..." Her eyes search his before she answers. "Yes, I do."

She is surprised that she means it. Why would she trust him? She's anxious due to his intense reaction to the doctor's innocent mix-up, but he is very kind and considerate with her. Maybe he's just overprotective of her? And isn’t that how husbands are supposed to be with their wives? 

"Good, I'm glad." There is a touch of relief in his expression. "And please, I beg of you, call me Mason." 

" _Mason_." 

She tastes the name and smiles. She likes it, it fits him. The intensity and the dark clouds darkening his face part instantly and he smiles back. 

"To hear you say my name again... I... I was sure I had lost you." The smile dies on his lips before his voice breaks. 

Again, she is overwhelmed by his sudden mood swings. She might trust him, but she still doesn't know what to make of him. She's unsure how to react to his capricious temperament. 

"I can't lose you again, Mary!"

Lost in his sorrow, he unexpectedly wraps her in a tight embrace. At first, she freezes but lets him hold her. Rationally she understands this is normal behavior for a husband when his wife is in the hospital. She's the abnormal one who doesn’t remember how to play her part. But even if she doesn't remember, she can show kindness, so she hugs him back. There’s something familiar about his aftershave when she breathes him in, something right. It feels comforting. Their hug releases something in him too, because she feels his tension easing as his sobs slowly die off.

She can't help but to feel like an intruder to his grief, even when she's the cause of it. Or his wife is. All she needs to learn is who Mary is. No big deal.

"Mason?" she asks as she pulls away.

"Yes, dear?"

She lets the term of endearment slide and asks: "What happened?"

He wipes his eyes before he answers: "You were in an accident. You were hit by a massive sign on top of the Capwell hotel. The letter C." 

Wait, a Capwell hotel? They own a hotel? That's what "Capwell" means? 

"You were unconscious for so long there was little hope you'd survive. The doctors told me it's a miracle you're still alive, that you only lost your-" he abruptly stops.

"My memory? They think my loss of memory is no big deal?"

There's something he's not saying. The haunted look in his eyes before he turns his head away prevents her from pushing for the truth. She doesn't want to upset him again.

She doesn’t want to cause him pain.

Or herself.

"The doctors said I shouldn't say anything to upset you or to stress you. You should regain your memories at your own pace, and I should be the one to look after you while you do so." The woe in Mason's eyes conflicts with his smile when he looks at her again. "Doctor's orders." 

"Mason?" she starts again after a long, grave silence.

"Yes, dear?"

"Were we happy?" 

"Yes, very much so." His breathing hitches. "When we were allowed to be."

"Allowed?" 

That perks her interest. He makes them sound like some star-crossed lovers straight out of Shakespearean tragedy. Shakespearean doesn't sound like her, but how is she to know? She doesn't remember, she needs him to remind her.

She finds it funny how she can remember a dead playwright but not her husband. 

"There's my father," Mason starts. "He wasn't too happy about us."

The amount of venom in his tone makes her afraid to ask: "I wasn't good enough for his son?"

"Oh no, he worships the ground you walk on, he practically sees you as his third daughter along with my sisters Eden and Kelly. It's me he can't stand, his own son. I wasn’t good enough for you. He made sure I knew that."

"Mason, I'm sorry, that's sounds horrible."

"Sometimes I fear he's right," he admits, darkly. "It's my fault that you're in the hospital."

"That doesn't make any sense. You said I was hit by something. Did you push me?"

"Of course not, I came on to the roof too late. But you were on that roof because of me," he whispers, still trapped in the terrible anguish of the memory.

"Mason... You can't blame yourself for my actions." She tries to allay his pain. "I'm sure I was there on my own free will."

"You needed to clear your head." He clears his throat.

"See? Not your fault."

"But you were so angry with me," he says in a small voice.

"Why was I angry with you?"

"Because-" He looks down. "Because I didn't listen to you or do what you asked me to do - no, begged me to do. Because I couldn't let go of my anger. And it almost crushed you to death," he chokes up. 

“Mason, I’m still here.” She lifts his chin, attempting to bring him back to the present. “I need you to be here with me in the now.”

With no one else here to claim her as their own, he’s the only one she can rely on. She needs someone to tell her who she is, and honestly, she doesn’t like that feeling one bit. Even when that someone is her family.

“You need me?” He lifts his eyes to her.

“Yes, I need my husband.”

For a fleeting moment, her words cast a gloom over him before he manages a thin smile.

“Well, you have _me_.”

Does she? It’s like a wall went up around him that she can't penetrate. It’s unfair that a man who can apparently read her thoughts faster than she can think them, is suddenly so capable of hiding his own. Can she trust him? Is he telling her the truth? If only he’ll tell her who she is.

She trusts that Mason loves Mary, that much she can tell. She finds comfort in that because she has an inkling he's not a man who loves easily.

She trusts he’ll take care of her.

She doesn’t trust he is telling her everything. He's hiding something that happened between them, either before the accident or during it. A wraith trapped behind his eyes that she doesn’t know how to exorcise out of him. Doesn’t dare to.

But now she has a vague idea, a fragmented image pieced together from his account of events. A step forward, no matter how small. She can do this. She just needs be patient with him and herself, give them time. Her memory will come back. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, doctor, she should go home and live with a man she doesn't remember.

It doesn't come back.

The shadows clouding her mind won't move. There's nothing there, no matter how many tests the neurologist puts her through, or how many questions her psychologist asks her during the following weeks.

“Physically you’re fine, Mrs… er, Mary.” Dr. Nasch clears his throat before he gives Mason a pointed look. “Top condition. Full recovery.”

Full recovery? Yeah, everything is perfectly fine. Except for her mind. No big deal.

Her doctor assures familiar surroundings and people might jog her memory, but if the hospital is the only place she’s familiar with, why are they forcing her to leave to the great unknown? Seems irresponsible.

She watches Mason when he interrogates Dr. Nasch for the umpteenth time about her condition. Everybody agrees she’s fine. Just fine.

Yes, doctor, she should go home and live with a man she doesn't remember.

Mason steals a glance from her, and she can't help but be a little bit comforted. From the twinkle in his eyes she can tell he's elated, and why wouldn't he be? He's getting his wife back. And she's getting her husband back. Why does it feel so strange to think that? She imagines them as a married couple, her heart all in a flutter. She rubs her ring with her thumb. She should be relieved to go back to something familiar, to Mason. Her husband. But Mason is not familiar. 

A nurse comes in, telling her she has a visitor. She turns to Mason and sees he’s as surprised as she is. 

“I’ll go and see who it is.”

With Mason out of the room, her doctor turns to her with a serious look on his face: "Mary, if there's anything you feel you can't discuss with your… with Mr. Capwell, please don't hesitate to contact me. Even beyond the regular check-ups, anytime. Here’s my number if you need it."

Something in his expression troubles her. 

"That's very kind of you, Dr. Nasch," she responds politely as she takes his calling card, unsure where he's coming from. “But I doubt I’m going to need it.” 

What couldn’t she talk to her husband about? Why would her doctor need to go behind Mason’s back?

“Yes, Mr. Capwell is extremely attentive to your needs. Constantly,” he admits in a brittle tone, “but I rarely get to ask _you_ how you’re doing. How are you?”

She tries not to smile, because her doctor is not exactly wrong. Mason does seem to command a certain amount of attention, but she doesn’t mind, he’s only doing it for her. But if she has her doctor now all to herself, she might as well ask the one thing that bothers her.

“I could do without the amnesia, Dr. Nasch. When you say ‘full recovery’, shouldn’t that mean I had my memories back by now?”

“What it means there’s no neurological reason why you shouldn’t regain all your memories. We’re talking scar tissue here, but as you know, it takes time for scars to fully heal. You went through a massive trauma.”

“Is there any way to speed up the healing process?”

“Well, writing can be extremely helpful.”

“Are you serious?” She gives him a look.

That’s it? A paper and a pen are his expert medical advice?

“Absolutely. Patients like you have found writing to be an excellent tool, not only for regaining their memories, but for therapeutic purposes as well. If the world can be a scary place for people with their memories intact, I can only imagine how terrifying it must be with no memories. That’s why it’s good to keep a record of your thoughts.”

His insight on her mind startles her at first, but logically it makes sense. He’s her doctor, patients like her are part of his job. Or course he would understand the fears of amnesiacs.

“It can be.” She takes a deep breath. “But thankfully I can trust my husband.”

“Ah, right, your _husband_.” His voice reveals some disdain. “A word of advice, your notebook should be something that’s only for you, and you shouldn’t feel any constraints when writing it. Not even by Mr. Capwell. You don’t need to show it to him - it might be best if you didn’t.” 

“Are you sure?” It doesn’t feel right to keep secrets from Mason.

“It’s good to have something of yours, in case you have any doubts or concerns about anything, or anyone - even him. If you think that things don’t add up? If you sense something is off? Write them down. It won't judge your thoughts, and that’s when it’s most useful. Anything you can’t ask Mr. Capwell, ask yourself.” 

“How can I ask myself anything if I can’t remember?”

“That’s why writing can be so useful, it can clear up some of your thoughts when you see them written down. Trust in yourself, trust that you’ll find the answers if you just keep pushing. You need to understand who you really are because nobody else can - or won’t - tell you that.” 

Who she really is? That’s a tall order for a simple notebook to fill.

She gets the distinct impression he is hinting at something. Should she write in it how her doctor really doesn’t like her husband and vice versa? It might simply be because Mason can be… intense. Okay, demanding. The hospital is probably happy to see the last of both of them. What she doesn’t understand is Mason’s strong reaction to Dr. Nasch, considering how attentive her doctor is with her. He should be grateful she’s getting the best possible care.

Right on cue Mason walks in, irritated, ready for a fight. Who would have such an effect on him? Before she can ask about her visitor, Mason picks up on her lingering confusion.

"Did I miss something?” He gives the doctor a sharp look before he turns to her. “Are you alright, Mary?"

"Dr. Nasch just assured me everything was okay. Who wanted to see me?"

"Oh, nobody, the nurse got things mixed up."

Dr. Nasch is visibly bothered by his words but stays quiet when Mason glares at him, as if daring him to speak out. There's a whole conversation taking place in the silence which she doesn’t understand. It looks like her husband is having the upper hand, because her doctor shakes his head and looks at her. Then without saying a word, he squeezes her hand before leaving. Her fingers tighten around the doctor’s calling card, and she can feel its sharp edges pressing against her skin. 

“What was that between you and Dr. Nasch?” She looks up at Mason, but he’s not looking at her.

His eyes are fixed on her hand, his brow wrinkled. She half-seriously ponders if Mason has an x-ray vision, and somehow knows about the calling card. Impossible, but he does seem to see right through her. 

"That was nothing but me being sick and tired of the mix-ups in this hospital.” He turns to her and his frown melts away. “My wife needs her peace and quiet with no distractions. I thought I had made that abundantly clear with the hospital.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Nervous?"

Is it that obvious? Maybe he can hear her thoughts too? 

"A little bit. Everything is still so new."

Even him. 

Maybe it’s good to have something of her own, even if only a phone number she can call to? Not that she would need to. Mason might be a bit rough around the edges, but she sees nothing but love when she looks into her husband’s eyes.

"It looks like we're going home but it’s your choice, Mary. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t feel you’re ready. I want you to feel that you can trust me. Do you trust me?" He entwines his fingers with hers.

She does, as crazy as it sounds. He stirs something deep within her that can't be explained with logic. It's terrifying to put her trust in someone she barely knows, but thrilling too. Her heart beats faster when she's around him.

"I do."

There's something solemn in that moment. It feels like a vow she'd say in front of a priest and he takes it with equal reverence. 

"Then trust me to take care of you. You have my word."

Right now his word is the only thing going for her, the only thing she can rely on. All she can do is to take a leap of faith and believe he'll catch her. Believe she'll remember faster in familiar surroundings. She has to trust that, to trust their marriage.

On the day she is released from the hospital, Mason drives her to a big mansion, saying it might help her memory. As they stand in front of its massive front door, she observes its sand colored stone facade, struggling to feel any sort of familiarity with the house. As beautiful as it is, there's no warmth to it, no familiarity. The only thing she senses is the tension coming from Mason, which puts her on edge as well.

Inside the mansion they meet Mason's father, C.C. Capwell. She's prepared to dislike him based on Mason's judgement but when he greets her with such warmth and tenderness, it's hard to object him. He hugs her and it feels natural, if not familiar. 

"How are you, Mary?" He cups her cheek.

"I'm fine, Mr. Capwell."

"Call me C.C., I insist." He smiles warmly at her before he glares at Mason. "How is my son treating you? I would have visited you in the hospital, had I been _allowed_ to do so."

“Dad…” he groans.

"He has taken excellent care of me. The best way to thank him is to get better, I think," she speaks softly, trying to diffuse the tension in the room.

"I couldn't agree more. But you must know, you're always welcome to stay here. The guest house is yours, even if you were alone in there, without Ma-"

"Dad!” Mason interjects, clearly displeased. 

The guest house? Why would she be there alone, without Mason? 

“Mr. Capwell… C.C., that’s very kind of you to offer, but-” 

She doesn’t even realize she’s playing with her wedding ring before Mason abruptly takes her hand into his.

“We had this conversation before, dad. I already told you it was decided." 

This is the first time she hears about their conversation. She's irked her life is decided by other people, even if by her own family.

With both men on their best behavior on the surface, she still senses the animosity between them. Mason defends adamantly his decision to take her to his home, making the older man bristle at his son's judgement. Why is it such an issue between the father and the son? Mason is her husband. As his wife, it’s only appropriate she’d live with him. Grudgingly Mr. Capwell lets him have his way when Mason repeats it's the best place for her. Doctor’s orders. 

She wants to ease the tension between them but doesn't know how. It’s funny how that feeling is so familiar, even when she doesn't remember feeling it before. She’s relieved they leave before the two men reach their boiling point, but her relief is short-lived as they approach Mason’s home. 

No, their home. She should remember that. 

Why is _she_ so tense all of a sudden? She’s going home, she should be elated if anything. He most certainly is. With just the two of them, all the tension in and around Mason evaporates. His smile gets so wide his eyes are crinkled. With no doubtful doctors or disgruntled dads to disagree with, he’s charming and witty as she tries to make her laugh. She laughs politely, hoping he doesn’t notice her heart is not in on it. She wants to join in on the fun, but her own mood is going to the opposite direction of his. She is moving in with a man she doesn’t remember. What on earth compelled her to do that? She twirls her ring around her finger with restlessness growing inside her. 

When he parks the car, she has an urge to bolt out and never look back. Yeah, great plan, but where would she run? 

“Mary.” He takes her hand. “It’s going to be okay, you have my word.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She nods and smiles, because she wants to believe him. Nevermind the sudden fear that she’s about to make the biggest mistake of her life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing. She feels nothing for the home that's supposed to be his and hers. Fantastic.

His stylish apartment is a similar blank slate to the mansion. Nothing. She feels nothing for the home that's supposed to be his and hers. Fantastic.

"Anything?"

"I'm sorry, Mason, no." 

He gives her the full tour around his home. After seeing his father’s mansion and his apartment, she finally grasps how rich he is. If his family owns mansions, hotels and heavens know what else, that doesn’t concern her. That’s not her world, his home is. Yet she instinctively knows none of Mason’s beautiful possessions belong to her, even as his wife. Not the tasteful furniture nor the stylish dresses in her closet. She doesn't need this much. Not that she remembers why, but she yearns for a simple and quiet life. Something with structure.

She wonders about her job because she's convinced she has one. If they don't have a child together, she can't see herself staying at home all day with him working.

Why no child?

She wonders why there's no wedding photo of the two of them but shrugs it off. Too painful to watch, probably, with her in the hospital fighting for her life. It's a question for another day. 

She stops in front of a mirror and examines the woman staring back at her. Nothing here feels as hers, not even her appearance. Her reflection feels as foreign to her as her surroundings, and the mirror reveals very little about the woman looking at it. Barely nothing compared to what she sees reflected in Mason's eyes when he comes up from behind her.

"You like what you see?" he murmurs next to her ear when their eyes meet through the mirror.

He most certainly does, his eyes utterly enchanted by her reflection. She looks down, self-conscious under his intense gaze. She's not sure if he means her looks or his apartment, so she chooses the safer option.

"Yes, Mason, your... I mean, _our_ home is lovely."

"I'm glad to hear it." His eyes imply he's only interested in her, not in his apartment. 

She can tell he catches her correction about his home but doesn't cling to it. He's very patient with her, for which she's ever so grateful for. And a little frustrated. He doesn't come off as a patient man with anyone else, so she worries it's a show for her benefit. She wants him to react to her honestly but doesn't dare to ask it. Doesn't know how.

"Is there something on your mind, Mary?"

"I'm just wondering who we were," she states honestly. "Or who my husband is."

"You're saying 'Mason Capwell' isn't enough for you?" he quips before he gets serious. "I'm not quite sure what to tell you, other than that I love you."

She doesn't know how to respond to such a direct declaration. Mason loves Mary, she knows this - but she doesn't know who Mary is. She doesn't remember how to be her. The polite part of her wants to say 'thank you', but she can only imagine the pain it would bring him.

"What do you do for a living?" she asks instead, letting his words hang awkwardly between them.

There's a glint of wistfulness in his eyes, but he doesn't dwell on it. 

"I'm a lawyer."

"Really? Sounds intriguing." She tries to smile encouragingly.

"It can be, I enjoy the fight," he states matter-of-factly.

He's uninterested in sharing much about that part of his life, but she's genuinely curious. He strikes as the type of person who would enjoy a good argument - even now when he makes sure to not upset her about anything. Somehow a lawyer fits into the picture of him she is trying to create in her mind. It's very Mason. She's tickled how she thinks she knows him better than herself.

"No kids?" she asks directly, because she doesn't know how to go about the issue in a round-about way. 

"No, not yet."

His terse response combined with the anguish radiating from his eyes tells her there's much more to the matter than not getting around to it. His reaction sparks an intense emotion in her too, and for a fleeting moment, she’s overcome by an intense sadness. She can envision them as parents, and can’t fathom why they’re not.

Is this a sore point for the two of them, something they argue about? Don't their wants match on this? She finds it impossible she wouldn't want kids, so maybe it's Mason who doesn't want them.

"But maybe one day?" she dares to ask. 

"Yeah, one day."

He would make a wonderful father, she’s sure of it. The way he delicately places his hand on her abdomen and looks down tells her how much he wants a baby too. The look of devotion in his eyes touches her to her very core, and she puts her hand on top of his. He lifts his eyes and for a moment, they feel right - like a married couple.

She makes a conscious effort to change the subject to something mundane: "Did I work?"

He takes a beat before he answers: "Yes, constantly. Too much if you ask me." 

"Har har, very funny. But what did I do?" 

"You were a nu-, I mean, you are a nurse. You took care of my father when he suffered a stroke."

She suspects he's leaving something out but lets it be. Instead, she asks: "That's how we met, when I took care of your father?"

"Our paths had crossed before, but yeah, that's when we really got to know each other."

"That explains the connection I have with him." She smiles tenderly.

"Connection? Between you and my dad?"

He's clearly not pleased with her assessment but tries to hide it. She's surprised he's this bothered simply because she likes his dad. 

"Yes, why, is it that bad that we like each other?"

"We've had this conversation already. He had a habit of smearing my name to you before, turn you against me. I'd hate that to happen again."

"That sounds just awful, Mason. Could you tell me why there's so much venom between you two?"

"Ours is a long and sad tale, father and son issues of Biblical proportions."

"Biblical, huh? Now there's a book I remember well. Isn't that odd?"

"Yes, very odd. Nobody reads that book unless they have to," he scoffs.

She's taken aback how swiftly he dismisses her notion of the Bible. He's clearly uninterested in talking about it but she can't fathom why. It's the one thing she remembers well.

"That doesn't sound very Christian, Mason. Why the dislike? Were you a bad boy at school who got into trouble with nuns?"

She's surprised by his sudden outburst of laughter.

"Nuns have been known to torment me," he says feigning sadness. "One nun in particular was very harsh and unforgiving with me."

She can't determine whether he's serious or not. He says it in jest, but his eyes reveal angst. Who reacts this strongly to nuns? She likes them. It dawns on her she more than just likes nuns, she loves the church and considers her faith very important to her. Her faith. She doesn't need to remember any details of her past to know what she believes in. That gives her solace. 

"To return to our previous point, please, be careful with my dad. He can be charming but also ruthless. I'd hate to see you caught in the middle of whatever issues I have with him. Don't let him get inside your head, and try to avoid him the best you can." 

C.C. can't be that bad, can he? But there's no point arguing about a man she can't remember.

"I will, I promise. Since we're on the subject of family, could you tell me about mine?" she pleads.

She sees his mind working overtime, weighing how much he can tell her. She wishes he'd stop analyzing how much she can handle, and just come out with it. 

"You have a mother, and a younger sister, Christy. Do you remember them?"

"No."

She tries to steel herself because she doesn't want to cry in front of him, but can't stop the tears forming in her eyes. Mason offers her a handkerchief which she gratefully accepts. He guides her to sit on the couch, sitting right next to her. He puts his hand on her shoulder but doesn't say anything for a while. He simply lets her dry her eyes in peace.

"You told me you drifted apart at a young age when Christy rebelled and you… left home, because your home-life wasn't exactly stable with your mother's alcoholism and step father's abuse. From what I gathered, you weren't that close with them and eventually completely lost touch."

"That sounds awfully sad. Sounds like neither one of us are very close to our family."

"Sounds about right. I'm afraid I'm all the family you have," he says, his eyes keenly fixed on her.

"Believe me, Mason, you're a handful," she tries to lighten the mood, but her voice betrays her sadness. 

She has a baby sister somewhere in the world and she can’t remember her. What does that make her? A failure of a sister, that’s what. Useless. Lost in her own gloomy thoughts, she suddenly finds herself wrapped in his embrace. At first she tenses up, but eventually lets herself snuggle against his chest, consoled by his closeness.

He has a remarkable talent to give her what she needs when she needs it. 

As they sit there in the comfortable silence, she looks out of the window and sees it's dark. Is it evening already? They have to go to sleep at some point, but she really doesn't know how to go about it. Does he expect them to sleep together? Her intuition tells her she's not a promiscuous woman, not before or now - but this is a wholly new situation for her. For her Mason is still someone she barely knows, and yet, they are married. She might not remember her previous self, but she does know how wives behave. Some things might be expected in a marriage.

Does she want to sleep with Mason? He's her husband for a reason, she wouldn't marry someone she doesn't love, she knows it. Even without knowing him well, she can't deny she's attracted to him. She finds his good looks and sharp mind extremely appealing. She loves to listen to him, and he makes her feel special with how he hangs on to her every word. He makes her feel like they're the only two people in the world.

She likes the Mary she sees in his eyes, even if she's not sure she's that person.

It's clear the attraction is mutual by the way he looks at her and behaves around her. It's in his every glance and in his every touch. It colors his every word, most poignantly with her name. It's in how he's holding her now, how he buries his face in her hair and breathes in. How he seems to breathe easier the closer he is to her. She knows he wants her. 

"Is everything alright, Mary? You seem... anxious." He detects.

"No, just tired. It has been a long day."

"Of course, how thoughtless of me to keep my little patient up all night. You must be exhausted." He lets go of her.

"I'm not sure if I should, if we should, I mean..." Her voice trails off, nervously.

He understands what she's asking.

"How do you feel about it?" He asks quietly, letting her collect her thoughts.

"Anxious," she admits with a small smile.

"It's okay, Mary. You're allowed to be. This is new to you, and in a sense to both of us."

"How do mean? You remember our marriage."

"But with your amnesia, it's like a clean slate again. We can start afresh, and like before, I don't want to rush you into anything. I could never impose myself on you if you're not ready, not like M-" Mason visibly forces himself to stop, before continuing. "That's not me. I think it's best I sleep in the guest room for now."

She is relieved and grateful for him being so understanding, and suddenly very fond of the previous Mason too. No wonder she is married to him. Without thinking, she plants a little kiss, just a feathery touch of lips on his mouth, surprising the both of them. He stares at her, dumbfounded. Before he has a chance to say anything, she turns and rushes to his bedroom.

Lying on the bed, her eyes closed, she can be more daring with Mason than in reality. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes she envies her previous self.

_She wasn't supposed to be there, she knew that. She didn’t recognize anyone. Her modest costume was all wrong for the glamorous masquerade. The countless mirrors with their gilded frames hanging from the walls proved her point, making her plainness all the more apparent in contrast to the glamour around her._

_She turned to the door, anxious to get out. She run in to him, a man in the mask, a man who belonged in this crowd. He was poised and extraordinarily well dressed, a true gentleman. He locked the door behind him, making it impossible for her to leave. When she asked for the key, he didn't have it anymore. She saw his hand was empty._

_She was petrified he would see her as the deceiver she was. He would see the real her all too well and know she didn't belong there with him. Everybody would ridicule her when he would point it out to them. He didn't. He bowed his head as if she was a lady. He took her in his arms, leading her to a dance in the great ball-room._

_She followed the lines of music, captivated by its melancholic melody. Suddenly she didn't mind that everybody was watching her. He saw her. In his arms she felt at ease, like she was supposed to be there._

—

She wakes with a start, disoriented, lost to where she is. A sense of unreality lingers even with her eyes open, but the feeling turns out to be as elusive as her dream. Still confused, she gets up and stands alone in his kitchen, not sure of her place in a home that's clearly designed for a bachelor.

"I should make breakfast," she says out loud, trying to comfort herself with tasks she's familiar with.

"Do you remember how?" 

She hears Mason’s laughter behind her. She gives him a dirty look but laughs as well: "Well, I know how to make coffee at least. That's something, right?"

"That's everything," he says, smiling, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm going to take a shower and let you get on with it."

She assumes he remembers something but doesn't ask what. She goes to the kitchen and sure enough, she knows how to make coffee. She also finds two stale breads and two eggs and realizes there is something she remembers how to do - she knows how to make French toast.

When Mason enters the kitchen in his robe, the sight of the French toasts on the table causes him to halt.

"Mary, do you remember?" He searches for her eyes. "You made these for me before."

"I did? Huh. I can't say I do, but clearly my inner cook did. Assuming I had one. Did I cook for you?"

"No, not really, we ate a lot at restaurants." He grins like he remembers something. "And we had some takeout. Sushi."

"Sounds like there's a story?"

"There is, but it doesn't paint me in the best light. Let's just say it involved a flat tire."

"You flattened it, didn't you?" she suspects, laughter in her voice.

"It's like you know me."

It reminds them both how she doesn't, but she enjoys the banter.

"We should eat. And do... are we supposed to do something?"

"You're supposed to take it easy." He tries to look stern but fails. "But I suppose we could go out. Would you like that? How about a walk on the beach?"

"I'd love that." She beams.

From the look in his eyes she discerns it's a meaningful place for them. She remembers how a beach looks like, but beyond its beauty, it doesn't have any special meaning to her. She can't fake that it does, so she avoids his gaze as she busies herself with cleaning the table. She doesn't want to disappoint him, but she can't force herself to remember either. 

At the beach, he offers his arm to hold on to and she puts her hand around it. With the sun caressing her face and the wind blowing through her hair, she’s hypnotized by the sea’s immense power and beauty. The breathtaking view is completely lost on Mason, who seems to be transfixed by her. Does he need her to remember? Is that why he's so preoccupied with her? 

She has a sudden urge to push him towards the water but represses it. What a peculiar, silly thought. He would be shocked, and she'd be mortified. Instead of pushing him, she leans against his shoulder. Her gesture seems to please him, palpably relaxing him. She's surprised how normal it feels to walk on a beach with a man she barely knows. Even without the memories, she's happy they're there. She enjoys his company and hopes he feels the same.

"There's a place we could grab a drink. See, there?" He points at the distance.

"Sure, that'd be nice."

She's mildly alarmed by the eccentric behavior of the place's waiter, but Mason assures he's harmless. Sharp as a tack and inconveniently insightful, Pearl is a good guy at heart. He's extremely charming with her, but she notices he keeps glancing at her when he thinks she doesn't notice. Pearl's stare catches even Mason's attention. 

"He knows us?" 

"Oh yes, we run in the same circles. He knew us from before," Mason says.

"He doesn't strike me as the, uh, rich type."

"Looks can be deceiving. Pearl loves to hide in plain sight," there's a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Is Mason jealous? Pearl's stare doesn't look like he's leering. In her eyes, he comes off as curious. It's only normal for people previously familiar with them to wonder about her. Besides, if he knows them from before, he might be able shed some light on her past.

"He seems nice."

"He is, but he's not the pearl I want to talk about." He picks something from his pocket and takes out a little box with a pearl necklace in it. "Would you consider wearing this again?"

" _A pearl of great prize._ " The words come out of her mouth before she can think them.

" _Gotten for nothing_ ," he responds just as fast, like in a trance.

"Where did those words come from? You gave me this pearl before?"

"Well, no, you found the pearl in your salad, but I had it made into a necklace."

"That must have been quite a salad! How did you know the necklace would spark my memory?"

He sits across her, just as stunned as she is. 

"I wanted to take you to the place where we were happy once and give you something of yours. Relive one of the best days of my life." He looks joylessly into the distance. 

She assumes the repeat doesn't match with the original. She can't help but feel partly responsible because she doesn't know how to live up to his Mary. Sometimes she envies her previous self. What is it about her that makes him love her so?

"The doctor did mention that familiar places or things might stir some of your memories, but since you didn't remember any of the other places we've been, I honestly didn't expect for you to remember this. Do you remember what happened, Mary?"

"With the pearl? Yes. I mean no. I mean, I don't know. The words were out before I had even thought of them, if that makes sense? But I don't remember saying them before. Do you think I'll ever get my memory back?" 

"There's always hope, Mary."

He sounds like someone who is supposed to be happy, but not quite so. She can't understand why, when he's the one who gave her the pearl. He wants her to regain her memories, right?

"Good, because I want to remember. I want to remember who I am, who we were."

"Some memories can be painful," he cautions her tenderly.

"But not knowing can be even more painful. Can't you see?"

"Be careful what you wish for. They don't say ignorance is bliss for nothing. I wouldn’t mind having some of that bliss, too." He looks at his drink.

"I don't know how I was before, but I don't like being out of my depth or out of control. I fear I'd drown without you, and I don't like being this dependent on anyone. Not even with my husband."

"That's sounds like my Mary, fiercely independent and absolutely terrified of losing control. Even with me, well - at one point - especially with me. It took you a long time to let yourself love me." 

He says it like an accusation, which troubles her. She wants to defend her previous actions but doesn't remember how.

"I don't think it's bad to want some structure and order in one's life. Control can be a good thing. It keeps us from hurting," she says quietly.

That's the one thing she doesn't need to remember, that's something she knows.

"It's bad when it keeps us from living and hidden behind walls. You don't have to run anymore, not from me."

"I wasn't aware I was running." She looks down.

"I'm sorry, Mary, this is unfair for you. I'm having an argument with a ghost of past, when I should be helping you."

His manner is so earnest that she quickly forgets the slight upset.

"It's okay, I forget how hard this must be for you too, Mason, dealing with a ghost of past and present. I hope the future brings some clarity." 

"I'll drink to that." He empties his glass in one sitting.

She observes him concerned but doesn't think it's her place to criticize his drinking. Just because she's his wife doesn't mean she gets to nag. She needs her memory to master that art.

Instead, she asks him to help her with the necklace. His chest rises and falls sharply at her innocent request before he gets up. As he moves behind her, she lifts her hair. She can feel his fingers shaking against her skin, barely able to hook the necklace. When he finally finishes, she slides her hand on top of his to steady him. She looks up and is devastated by the raw pain and longing expressed in his eyes. She lets her hand drop. 

"Mason..."

The moment sparks something in her mind, an echo of their voices from time before. 

_How am I ever gonna thank you for this?_   
_Say my name that way again._

She doesn't dare to repeat the words to him, loathing to give him false hope over a couple of lines. But she remembers the rush of excitement, the thrill of being with Mason. Rather than saying anything, she pulls him down for a kiss. She can see the shock in his eyes before he presses his mouth to hers, but after that, everything is a blur. All she can feel is his lips on hers and the excitement he arouses in her. Everything in her quickens when she’s around him.

When she lets go of him, he looks slightly disoriented. 

"Mason, I think we should go home.”

"I... yes, I-" he struggles to make a coherent sentence, his face a mask of confusion.

Something stirs in her, something new. Or maybe something old from before, something familiar. In this moment she doesn't need her memories to know why she's married to him. She can feel it.

She forces her voice to be light when they talk on their way home. Well, she talks and he listens. Maybe. She's not sure if he can even hear her. His silence makes her ramble even more. She's hesitant to look at him. Is he upset with her?

She glances at him and sees his eyes locked on her, like she's the most precious thing in the world. Suddenly, she doesn't need to fill the silence anymore with mindless chatter. She can calm down. For the first time since the hospital she feels at ease in her own skin. She knows where’s she’s supposed to be. Right there, beside him.

When later in the evening they stand at the doorway to her bedroom, she hesitates. Now they're at the privacy of their own home and free to do what they want. She cuddles into him, his aftershave tickling her nose. So right. Still light-headed from the previous one, she closes her eyes and kisses him again. 

She knows she wants him, and he most definitely wants her. Does she dare to take this further? She feels like floating, sure he'll catch her. If she’ll take the leap and goes beyond this kiss, there's no turning back. That stops her. He’s her husband but she barely knows him - herself even less. She wants him, but it’s soon. 

She's free only in her sleep. In her dreams, she can have him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wants to move forward but can't. She stands there, paralyzed, unable to go either back or forth.

She stares at the blank page on her brand new notebook. _This_ is the thing that should help her to understand who she is, to unlock the mysteries of her mind? She has nothing to say to herself. She’s nothing but a woman with no memory.

She’s tempted to ask Mason to write it for her, because she imagines he would have plenty to say about his wife. To him, she’s everything. She sees the effect their life together has on him, even in this relatively short time. The invisible walls around him are slowly coming down brick by brick. He's less guarded with his words and much calmer around her than in the very beginning. He doesn't fear she's going to be taken away by the smallest puffs of wind anymore. The lost man beside her hospital bed appears to have found his footing. 

There's something soothing about it, seeing him quietly happy. She can tell he is neither a quiet nor a happy man. Mason makes her feel happy too, he feels like a real husband to her. It feels a lot like love, really.

But her doctor is right and she should stop daydreaming. She should have something of her own, even if only an empty notebook. Even if she manages only one sentence per day. 

**_Dear diary, I am an amnesiac._ **

Yeah, this is riveting stuff.

**_I’m married to Mason. He calls me Mary._ **

She stops. Is that all she is, someone he says she is? Is Mason all she has?

It would be so much easier to write about him, but she can’t write down everything. She can’t write how looking at him quickens her heart. How she feels it at the pit of her stomach whenever he’s close. How her skin remembers what her mind doesn’t every time he touches her. She would need a lock and a key for that kind of a diary.

What she can do is to follow her doctor’s orders. Anything she can’t ask Mason, she should ask herself.

_**What happened?** _

She hears the front door opening and slams the notebook shut, quickly shoving it under the papers on the table. She can’t shake the feeling like she’s doing something she’s not supposed to. It’s ridiculous because she’s only writing down her thoughts. It’s like keeping a diary. It _is_ a diary. If teenage girls can do it, so can she. Mason most likely wouldn’t mind.

But there’s barely anything in it. It’s nothing. Why show him nothing?

“What do you got there?” She peeks at the shopping bags he’s carrying.

“Presents for my beautiful wife.”

“Mason, you shouldn’t have.”

She lifts up a gorgeous, lilac dress from the bag and holds it up. It’s the perfect color for her and the fabric feels silky smooth between her fingers. Her eyes widen when Mason takes a box out of a smaller bag. Tiffany’s. Her jaw drops when he opens it and reveals a similarly colored diamond necklace. 

“This is too much!”

If he buys her gifts like these, no wonder her closet is full of luxurious clothes and her jewel box is brimming with more gems she’s ever going to use. As beautiful as her new diamond is, it doesn’t compare with the pearl around her neck. Her pearl links her to her past, to Mason.

“Impossible, nothing is too much for you.” He smiles at her. “Would you go out on a date with me?”

“I’d love to.”

He's worse than a school boy with his first crush, grinning madly, unable to believe his girl would go out with him. A nagging voice in the back of her mind wonders whether this is another rerun from their previous dates. He doesn’t say and she wouldn't ask. She hopes not, because she'd much rather create new memories.

He must have impeccable taste in women’s clothing because she can sense the looks she gets as they enter Orient Express. She wants to tell them this isn’t her, but how would she know? She’s married into one of the richest family in Santa Barbara, maybe this is her normal. With her new dress, she looks like she might even belong to this crowd. But even if she looks the part, she doesn’t feel it. These are his people, not hers. The only person here who belongs to her is Mason. 

He can’t keep his eyes off her when they dance. She enjoys the familiar sparks she always feels in his arms as they sway in their private little world, surrounded by the strangers.

"I think I could learn to like this." 

"I think you could learn to love this." He pulls her closer, their mouths only inches away from each other, their bodies even closer.

Her heart beats faster. He's not talking about dancing. 

"Mason, there are people..." She doesn't mean to sound prudish. 

When she looks around and sees no one pays any mind at all to them, she calms down.

"Do you trust me?" He smiles easily, new life in his eyes.

His tenderness is irresistible, making her feel loved and secure. She can't help but smile. 

"Not one bit." 

He spins her around with a swift movement. She throws back her head and laughs out loud, but has to lean against him to find her balance again. She wraps her arms around his neck for support and he pulls her closer by the waist.

"Good call," he murmurs before he kisses her.

For a second she forgets where she is and there's only the two of them, the rest of the people gone. There's only the addictive touch of his lips and the sensation his fingers cause as they slowly trail the curves of her waist. She snaps out of her daze when she hears a glass shattering on the floor. There’s no music but they’re still dancing.

"Oops." She lifts her eyebrows at him.

It's more of a comment on her own behavior than the source of the noise. She shouldn't let herself forget where she is with him. She shouldn't let herself forget _who_ she is. Even for a woman with no memory, she can't believe the audacity of her own behavior in front of these strangers.

“We should probably go.” He doesn’t make any effort to move.

“Yeah.” Neither does she.

His mouth is close to hers and she feels his breath tickling her lips. Anticipation swells inside her when he leans closer to kiss her again.

“Mary? Mason? What a pleasant surprise to see you here.” 

A familiar voice breaks the spell they’re in, reminding her there are other people besides Mason.

"Dad, what do we owe the pleasure?" Mason groans unpleased, as he reluctantly lets go of her.

“I was passing by and wanted to say hello to my favorite people.” Mr. Capwell smiles at her, excluding his son.

“Mr. Capwell…” she corrects herself, “C.C., how good to see you.”

Her cheeks are burning. It’s one thing to behave so wantonly in front of strangers, it’s a whole other level of embarrassment to do so in front of Mason’s dad. What must Mr. Capwell think of her?

“You look exquisite, Mary. I’m glad to see you’re doing so well after the accident.”

She turns to her husband when he tenses up and puts himself between her and Mr. Capwell, as if to shield her from his father. It makes no sense because if anything, his dad is being nothing but cordial to her. 

“Don’t you have some other place to be?”

“Other place than my own property? I can come and go as I please, Mason.”

There’s nothing to take one out of the mood faster than a family feud. She watches the two men spar against each other over something trivial, knowing full well it’s about her. She knows Mason doesn’t want her anywhere near his father, but can’t figure out why. Mr. Capwell is only being kind to her, but his tenderness seems to annoy Mason even further. Maybe it’s because it’s such a sharp contradiction to how he treats his son? Or maybe it has nothing to do with her and she’s just their excuse to keep fighting. She doesn’t need her memory to understand how this kind of animosity goes way back. People don’t reach this level of hatred overnight.

She on the other hand hates to witness their quarreling because it makes her think ill of both of them. She hates it when they put her between them. She wants the sorrow and trouble to be gone, she wants to be gone. Would Mason even notice her absence, or is he too busy arguing? She might as well go sit in the bar and let them tear each other apart all by themselves. 

No, she has a better idea. She needs to clear her head. She needs to get out. 

She stares blankly at the lift because she doesn’t remember walking there. Should she go up or down? Up, she needs to get up on the roof, out in the open, where she can breathe. Where she can think, where she’ll be free. She presses the button to the top floor. She can clear her mind again once she’ll get on to the roof, to get above it all.

That’s where nobody will fight over her, or about her. That’s where she doesn’t have to deal with all the hate and hurt. She can finally have some peace and quiet.

It's eerily quiet once she gets on the top floor. Dead silent. Nothing like the noisy restaurant. 

There’s an “Under construction” sign on the door to the roof but it’s not locked. As if in trance, she opens the door but has to stop at the doorway. She can’t do anything but stare at the chaotic construction site in front of her. She looks up to the blackness of the sky, to the dark void that will devour her whole if she steps out. Her heart races, beating too fast. All the colors become sharper and the sounds more exaggerated. She can hear the wind getting louder and the menace from the creaking metal. There’s a pain so sharp in her stomach that she almost cries out loud. 

There’s nothing peaceful here. She can almost hear the screams around her - her own voice shouting something. She can’t make out the words. 

“Mary.” 

She can barely hear Mason’s voice coming from behind her, with the low hum of fear deafening her ears. 

“I had to get away.”

This is the place where she lost-

“I know, but you can’t go out there.” His voice is rough. “You need to come back inside.” 

She wants to move forward but can't. She stands there, paralyzed, unable to go either back or forth. She doesn’t want to step into the darkness, but it’s the first time she feels she might remember something beyond the faint echoes. Something real and painful and hateful, the truth of it all. Freedom. But whatever is in front of her is way beyond her conscious control, too terrifying to let herself think about. Behind her there’s the sweet oblivion that beckons her to come back inside where it’s safe. 

Safe. He’s her safe haven in a storm, she needs to turn back.

“Mason,” she pleas, her voice barely audible.

Before she can move, she feels his fingers around her shoulders, pulling her back inside. 

“I got you.” 

He turns her around and pulls her in, tight. She hears the sharp noise from the door slamming shut behind her. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and breathes him in. She loves his aftershave, that first familiar thing about him. 

Even when his heart beats faster than hers, his breathing is steady. Calm and steady, like his arms around her when he holds her together. She needs to tether herself to something solid to calm down. She mimics his breathing, forcing herself to slow down her quick gasps. She holds on to him with her dear life for heavens knows how long. Long enough for the uncontrollable shivering to end, for her to be able to loosen her grip on him.

“Didn’t you see the sign? You’re not allowed to go in there.” 

She just nods when he cups her face, unable to respond. The sign of construction isn’t the reason Mason doesn’t want her on that roof. He doesn’t want her there for the same reason she can’t get past the doorway. He’s as terrified as she is, with an expression of pure anguish on his face. 

“I didn’t-” Her teeth chatter. “I wasn’t thinking. That’s where-”

“Yeah.” His voice cracks. 

The accident. Everything leading up to it. Her-

“How could I have been so stupid to take you back to this building? I wasn’t thinking.”

“I want to go home.”

He takes her hand and contented to relinquish control, she lets herself be pulled away from the door, back to the lift. They stand there with their eyes locked and fingers entwined, cut off from rest of the world. It’s so quiet. Only when other people start to enter the lift do they understand they’re at the ground floor.

Luckily they have a driver for the night because neither of them is in any shape to drive. Dazed and confused, she rests her head on his shoulder, staring blankly at the car window, blind to the colors and lights outside. The only thing making sense is him, and she clutches his hand tighter. He kisses her temple but doesn’t say anything.

At home, when he hands her a couple of pills, she takes them pliantly and swallows them without thinking. Her overheated mind welcomes the oblivion, wanting to break the dark loop circling her brain that tells her something terrifying is slithering her way. She would happily forget the roof and the night’s ink-like blackness.

She clutches the pen and manages to write it down before becoming too disoriented by the sedative. _ **  
**_

_**Do I want to know what happened?** _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her best medicine has a bitter taste to it.

_She had never had a partner such as him. She felt light in his arms, like floating, but only when she kept her eyes on him. When she mistakenly glanced at the mirrors swirling around them like a whirlwind, she became disoriented and confused. They reminded her how out of place she was. It was all a lovely dream that could never be realized._

_She needed to catch her breath and stopped dancing, curious about her partner. Even with the mask on his face, she knew him, she was sure of it. She just couldn't name him. To her questions he answered wisely and well, yet he remained a mystery._

_Distracted by an open door leading to a balcony, she was desperate for some fresh air in the crowded ball room. When she stepped forward, he didn't step aside to give her a pass. She went around him because she had to see it with her own eyes. Even when she knew she was trespassing somewhere he didn't want her to go, or didn't want her to see._

_At the doorway to the unknown she understood why. She looked around panicked, paralyzed by the vast emptiness surrounding them outside. She didn't want to go further outside where everything beyond was darkness._

—

The darkness disappears when she opens her eyes but the weight of the dread lingers, even if she can't quite name it. She almost regrets Mason isn't next to her, just for comfort. Not that she could say anything about the dream. What would she say?

“Hey Mason, your wife going slightly mad,” she mutters to herself when she opens the bedroom door.

Already awake, fully clothed with a suit he turns to her: “Did you say something?”

“Just talking to myself, never mind me.” She glances at his suit. “You’re going somewhere?” 

"I’m afraid I have to, there’s some urgent business in the courthouse I have to take care of."

He hastily collects some papers from the desk into his briefcase before she can get a good look at them. She can tell they're someone's annulment papers and is confused how Mason deals with both the marriage law as well as the crime law, but doesn't pry further. It really isn't her business to snoop into someone else's marriage or its unfortunate dissolution.

What concerns her is Mason. He’s restless but she’s not sure why. If it’s about leaving her alone, he shouldn’t be. She can take care of herself. Besides, going to work is what normal people do, and she likes to pretend they're normal people. A normal couple doing normal stuff - apart from the wife who remembers nothing about their previous life.

"It's okay, Mason, you can go, I’ll be okay.” She smiles at him as she fixes his tie.

“You’re sure?” He wraps his fingers around her hands.

“Absolutely. I don't need a babysitter every hour of every day."

She tilts her head when he won’t let go of her hands, curious about what’s going on behind his dark eyes.

"I loathe to leave you like this, but this is an urgent matter that can't be delayed.”

“With the annulment?”

“You saw what it was? Mary, you can’t-” He grows more agitated.

“Not the names or the specifics, just that it was an annulment,” she rushes to assure him she’s not that nosy.

“Oh. Okay.” He exhales. “Well, it’s a personal favor for someone I care very deeply about. I promised to her a lifetime ago I would take care of it.”

“Her?” 

She honestly doesn’t mean to sound jealous, but…

There’s a hint of a smile on his face before he quickly kisses her hands and lets go of them.

“She’s family. Honestly, this is nothing that you need to concern yourself with. Let me take care of it.”

“Mason, I’m not the one who’s concerned here.” She smiles patiently. 

“I guess you’re right. This day has been coming for so long, and I guess I can’t believe it’s here. I get to right a wrong.” 

“Was their marriage that bad?” She tries to imagine the mystery lady and her husband.

“The worst. But she’s finally going to be free of him.” He looks at her tenderly. “Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"Of course I am, it's only a few hours. I'm an adult, I can handle myself."

"Yes, but-"

"No buts, Mason. Go. Now. Before I have to kick you out." She laughs.

"Okay but call me immediately if there's anything you need." 

"Yes, I promise!" She sighs as she pushes him towards the door.

"I'm sensing I'm not wanted here," he says with a wry smile, as he opens the door.

"What tipped you off?" she asks, planting a kiss on his lips.

She chuckles as he walks out with a daft look on his face. There's nothing like a little kiss to make Mason to shut up.

Finally alone, she can admit to herself how a tiny part of her feels suffocated by his constant attention. She doesn't want to complain because it's clearly out of love or guilt, so she lets him fuss and take care of her. The other part of her feels extremely cherished, which is why she would never say anything to Mason about it.

_**First time alone. What now? What did I do before?** _

She's restless, she wants to do something. Spread her wings, explore, go for an adventure. She tries to look for the newspaper for some ideas, but it’s not on the table. Or anywhere, for that matter. 

Maybe she should go for a walk, have some fresh air? She smiles at her lack of adventurous spirit but decides to go out anyway. She has few hours all to herself with nobody to watch over her. She’s free to do as she pleases, and a little bit of exercise might help her to clear her head. She still doesn’t know what to make of the previous night, or her reaction to it. 

_**Do I want to know what happened? Yes, I do. I need to.** _

As she walks on the street, she watches the crowd of people passing, preoccupied by their own lives and troubles. Everybody around her moves with an air of urgency, with a purpose and a direction. She's out of step with them, with no rush to anywhere because she doesn't know where she's going. After a long time of wandering aimlessly, lost in her thoughts, she stops and looks up to where she is. 

She's in front of a church and feels drawn to enter the old building. Maybe this is where she's supposed to be?

When she enters, she's struck by how peaceful it is inside, with the warm light shining through the stained-glass windows. She's taken by the stillness of the space in contrast to the busy streets outside. It's the perfect place for reflection and meditation. She feels more at home in here than she does at Mason's.

A petite nun who is lighting candles, turns around and notices her. The nun's eyes light up when she sees her, her brown eyes filled with warmth and compassion. The older woman holds out her hands to her, and she takes a hold of them without thinking. 

"Mary! It's so good to see you up and about. We were all so worried about you."

Not only is there something familiar about the older woman wearing the habit, there's something familial about her. The nun knows her name, so obviously they're connected somehow. Maybe she's an avid churchgoer? She's instantly comforted by her presence but isn't sure it's because as a nun the lady represents her own faith, or because they know each other.

"I feel like I should know you," she says shyly to the nun.

"You do, Mary. We go a long way back. I'm Mother Isabel," she smiles gently, patting her hand.

"Great. It's good to hear I'm not going crazy." She sighs in relief that she's not completely wrong with her instincts about people. 

"Of course not, Mary. Mason told me you're suffering from amnesia because of the accident. It's the rest of the world that must feel insane to you."

"You know Mason too? Yeah, it's... a struggle. But thankfully I have Mason to guide me through. He has been a true life safer."

"I'm so glad to hear that, he has always loved you so much. It's great that you two finally have gotten the chance you deserved." 

She is comforted that her own instinct on Mason is validated. She has only her own intuition to go by, but no memory to back it up. 

"How do we know each other?"

"Oh, he didn't tell you? You used to be a nun, I was your Mother Superior."

"No, he has been very patient with me. He has been very careful to let me remember in my own pace."

She feels the urge to defend Mason to Mother Isabel, even when she's miffed with him. Why not tell her about this? Why scoff at her notions of the Bible? What's so bad about nuns? What possible trauma could be hiding in the church?

"Sounds reasonable, considering what made you leave the church."

"What was that?"

"I'm not sure I'm the one who should tell you that." Mother Isabel hesitates, carefully measuring her words.

"Please tell me, I need people to stop walking on eggshells with me. Mason treats me like I'm some precious thing he needs to keep from breaking. I don't break that easily," she grumbles.

The older woman smiles affectionately before she answers: "No, you don't. People might mistake you for frail, but you've never were. You've always weathered the storms in your own way." 

"There were storms?"

“Do you remember your sister, Christy?”

“No.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “But Mason has told me about her.”

"I saw how you stepped up when your sister Christy was raped by your step brother Steve. That's what made you leave the church. You couldn't think you could be nun when you were so full of hate and vengeance," Mother Isabel reveals.

"My sister was raped?"

She has a step brother? 

The ground shifts from underneath her and her knees go so weak that she needs to sit down. It's hard for her to keep a clear focus with all the emotions running amok in her mind. She wants to keel over but feels like she has no control over her body. She just sits, paralyzed.

"Oh, Mary, I'm so sorry you had to learn it this way." Mother Isabel's voice comes from a distance.

"It's okay. I mean, it's not, but it's going to be," she cries. 

She misses Mason, but he isn't there to soothe her and still the storm. She draws comfort from Mother Isabel's gentle hand stroking her back, but she has no way to control this rage within. She's flooded with feelings of love and sympathy for the sister she still can't remember. And hate, so much hate for Steve who hurt Christy. She wants to kill him.

It’s as if Christy’s pain is her own.

Mother Isabel sits beside her and gently cradles her as she wages her war within. She’s not even sure who she’s fighting anymore, but she's ever so grateful for the nun's maternal care in her time of need. Now she has two people she can rely on. Her tender care sparks familiar warmth in her chest.

“Thank you for-” She tries to catch her breath. “For this, a-and telling me the truth.”

“Of course, Mary. I think the truth is the best medicine for you right now.” 

She’s not so sure about that. Her best medicine has a bitter taste to it.

She doesn't want to leave her silent sanctuary but she knows how much Mason worries for her. He'll be home before her if she doesn't hurry. After her affectionate good bye to Mother Isabel, she walks as quickly as possible back to their apartment. Her mind still on overdrive from the church, she stops at the front door, convinced somebody is watching her.

Mason? 

The harsh sunlight blinds her for a second, confusing her. She looks around at the street but doesn’t recognize anyone there. A bearded man sits in his car at the opposite side of the street but he has his sunglasses on. She can’t be sure if he’s looking directly at her or just in her general direction. When he smiles, the hairs of her neck stand on end. She goes cold inside, and yet, feels sweat trickling down her temple. Unsettled by her own strong reaction and anxious to get home before Mason does, she abruptly turns away and enters the building.

It’s too late, he is already waiting for her when she reaches their apartment. 

There's a storm brewing. For the first time she can remember - which isn't very far - it's coming her way. 

He moves in front her and pins her upper arms to her sides, rendering her immobile. His grip doesn't hurt her, but his menacing demeanor does alarm her. Even now, she doesn't know him well enough to not be intimidated by his quick temperament. She doesn't want to appear vulnerable in front of Mason’s wrath, but she is still shaken by what Mother Isabel told her. 

"Mary, how could you go out without telling me? Today of all days. Something could have happened!" His voice rises with fury.

She needs to bite back her tears to be able to speak. She wants to step back but he won’t let her, holding on to her.

“I don’t understand what’s so special about today.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” He sounds exasperated.

"Mason, honestly, just because I can't remember anything doesn't mean I'm a child who needs to be protected from the outside world." Her throat constricts but she wants to reason with him. "It was just a walk.” 

"I know you're not a child, but with no memory, there's a very good chance you could've gotten lost," he shouts, towering over her. "Or somebody could have taken advantage of you."

"What are you saying? How dark is your worldview? People don't run around taking advantage of other people." 

She tenses up, which makes him tighten his grip. She shrinks back.

"How naive can you be? Of course they do! You don't know people like I do. After everything I’ve done to protect you, I need to know you’re safe at all times.”

“Mason, seriously… don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little bit over a walk?” She tries to reason with him again.

She understands he still remembers her venturing out onto the roof, but going for a walk is a completely different matter. It’s bright and sunny outside. 

“Mary, I can't have you running around trusting people you don't know. Not when-”

"But I met someone I knew," she cuts him off in defiance.

"Who?" He demands curtly with his brows drawn together, posture readied for an argument.

He makes her feel like she's in front of a court room giving a testimony.

"Mother Isabel."

That stops him in his track, and he suddenly loosens his grip of her. 

"Mother Isabel? You went to the church? What made you go there? Do you remember-"

"That I was a nun? I do now, she told me." There's a hint of steel in her voice. 

Something in her tone must get to him, because Mason finally lets go of her. He steps back and runs his fingers across his hair, clearly at loss for words. First time for everything.

"What made you go there? Was something troubling you? That's where you always went before when you needed to hide... I mean, when you needed to think."

She chooses to not get hung up on his slip of tongue. Not worth it.

"Not really, I don't even know how I got there. I just walked. A force of habit, maybe?"

Her hand moves up to her throat, searching for a cross that's not there. The only thing hanging around her neck is the pearl necklace from Mason.

"Do you miss it?" he asks cautiously, his eyes following her hand.

"I miss the clarity, I suppose. The peace."

"I don't provide those things to you?" he asks, hurt.

"Mason, it's not that simple. The church reminded me of who I was," she pauses, thinking. "But I don't think the church is going to help me remember."

"I agree." He exhales. "Anything else?"

"She told me Christy was raped. By a half-brother I didn't remember I had."

"God, Mary, I'm so sorry." He pins the bridge of his nose. "Do you remember that happening?"

"No, but I remember the rage I felt." She breathes to calm herself. “I guess that’s why you didn’t tell me about him?” 

"Something like that," he admits sheepishly. "I wasn't sure how much I should tell you about Steve considering how traumatic her rape was to both of you. Especially since Christy killed him in self-defense."

"She did what? The step brother I can’t remember is dead?"

Her reality tilts off balance for a second. Her mouth goes dry and she looks around panicked. The whirlwind from before sucks her in again, paralyzing her like in the church.

Just thinking about her step brother makes her sick to her stomach, but imagining her sister’s hell sends her heart racing. She feels it so keenly, it’s as if the pain is her own. As if she’s in her sister’s place. Brutally attacked.

"Mother Isabel left that out?" Panic creeps into his voice when he sees the severe effect it has on her.

"Hearing about Christy's rape was enough to knock me off my feet. I guess she wanted to spare me from more pain." Her voice sounds foreign to her.

"I wish I had known that." 

When he tries to wrap his arms around her, she freezes. "Mason, please don't. I can't-"

“You have to let me help you!”

“Mason, you need to understand, I can handle these things. I'm not gonna break-” Her defiant words are cut and somewhat contradicted by the sudden sobs that shake her whole body. 

Her brain has its own ideas, with little interest what she wants it to think. Her mind’s eye conjures up horrifying images of her sister’s ordeal, even when she can’t remember her. Her mind races against itself when she tries to understand what’s happening. A memory of a cruel fear darkens her mind, but it makes no sense to her. It’s supposed to be Christy’s pain, not hers. She’s not hurt, not like her sister. 

He stands there helplessly."You almost did, on that roof," his voice is barely audible.

"Mason..." she pleas.

This time she doesn't struggle when he cradles her in his arms, but tenses up when he hoists her and carries her to the bedroom. What is he doing? 

“Mason, what-”

Before she has time to protest, he puts her gently on the bed before he vanishes in to the bathroom. He appears again, this time with a glass of water in one hand and a couple of sedatives in the other. Even if she might burst with restless intensity, she doesn’t want to numb herself again. She wants her sister, no, she needs her. She needs to remember. 

"Mary, you need to rest now. Let me take care of everything. Do you need help with your clothes?"

"No!" She blushes. “Mason, I’m o-okay, I can handle m-myself.”

With tears still running down her face and her voice broken by sobs, she probably doesn’t make the best case for herself. Her words might as well fall to deaf ears, because he stands there patiently with the pills in his hand despite her protestations. She wants to declare independence, show him how well she can manage, but one look at his pained face shuts her up.

He doesn’t respond well to her pain. His face is wretched with the same haunted look from the hospital. He’s the prisoner of their past but right now, she has the power to leave the prison door ajar for him, at least for a little while. Make it easier for him, be a good wife to him. Too exhausted to argue, she finally complies and takes the pills.

"Satisfied, Mason?”

He gives her a lopsided smile but it’s a mirthless one.

"Hardly, but this will do. You need to sleep now," he murmurs as he helps her lie down on the bed. 

His touch is ever so gentle when he removes her shoes and pulls a blanket on top of her. With the warmth surrounding her and her body starting to react to the pills, she relaxes. The sedatives chase away the turmoil and replace it with still, dark waters.

"Thank you." She reaches for his hand as he stands beside the bed.

“Sleep well.”

“Mason...?" she pauses, because the haze makes it hard for her to concentrate.

"Yes?"

"Stay with me?"

She could see a guarded, hesitant look in his eyes before he answered, "Mary, are you sure?"

"I'm sure I don't want to be alone right now. Mason, please..." 

Her eyes start to close when he climbs on the bed next to her. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to wrap her arm around him and rest her head against his chest.

She wants to ask why he’s so tense all of a sudden but is too tired to ask.

Right now she doesn’t mind, though. Right now she feels safe. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows this. It’s a thought she cannot articulate, but it’s visceral.

She comes out of the pleasant, albeit drugged numbness and opens her eyes. It’s already morning. The rays from the sun hit her so hard she goes blind for a second, but the light is no match to the dark wave that returns to dwell in her mind after her good night sleep.

Something is missing. Mason. The sense of security when sleeping in his arms is gone and replaced with an empty bed. She freezes for a second when she loses hold of what's real.

Her heart hammers in her chest as she looks around. She’s all alone, she has nobody. At the moment, her only line of defense is her mind, and she has no control over it. She’s just like her sister, alone in the world - helpless. She knows this feeling even if she can’t remember it. She feels Christy’s pain as if it’s her own. 

The air around her tightens, making it hard to breathe. 

Nothing prepares her for the paralysis that comes next when her whole body tenses up. 

She can’t move. She can’t breathe. 

This is what Christy must feel. She has to talk to her baby sister. 

She tries to swallow the nauseating fear. There are beads of sweat on trickling down from her temple, and yet, it’s so cold she can’t stop shivering. Her fingers grasp the blanket on the bed and she wraps it around herself as tightly as she can, just to feel warm. Safe. But she needs Mason for that. She opens her mouth to call out to him, but no sound comes out. Her throat is drier than dirt.

Why would he leave her alone after everything? After Christy? After… this? He should be here with her. She has no reason for her anger, he doesn’t know she’s terrified. But Mason’s absence still stings, she needs him.

She has to breathe.

Snuggled inside the blanket she manages to turn her short, sharp breaths in to longer, softer ones. 

She can do this. Of course she can. 

She has to get up and talk to Mason. Still shell-shocked, she moves slowly, unsure if her legs will carry. She hears him talking to someone on the phone when she opens the bedroom door. She wants to run to him, she wants him to wrap his arms tightly around her and never let go - and she wants to slap him for leaving her to wake up all alone.

How dare he leave her when she needs him?

“No, I don’t think you understand. This is my decision," he says to the stranger on the other end of the line. 

She lingers at the bedroom door because he doesn't seem to register her presence. It's unusual that he doesn't notice her, usually he has a sixth sense when she’s around. It must be an important call. Work, maybe?

"I don't think she's ready for that.”

It’s not about work, it's about her. She can't quite figure out his tone. It's not exactly hostile, but it's clearly unforthcoming. It's nothing like the genial voice he reserves only for her. She feels compelled to make her presence known but doesn't want to give up the chance to observe Mason when he doesn't know he's being watched. 

Her curiosity wins. Instead of saying anything, she stays still and listens by the doorway.

“There’s only so much she can bear right now.”

She can’t argue with that, her limbs still trembling. Who is he talking to?

"I think I know what's best for her."

Even though he's obviously talking about her, she feels that by listening she's trespassing somewhere she shouldn't go. Could the phone call be about Christy? 

"I can give her the gift of not knowing," he says sternly.

What wouldn't he want her to know? Is he talking about a memory he wants to repress for her, or is this something new, about Christy? His words make her uneasy.

"I don't think you should call here again," he states curtly. "Yes, well, good bye."

She doesn't feel guilty for staying silent anymore.

He puts the receiver back to its socket and stands perfectly still, his head hanging down. When she says his name and he turns around, she is not prepared for the look in his eyes. 

He looks so helpless.

"Mary! I didn't see you there." 

His eyes show a depth of emotion deep enough to drown in, while his words reveal practically nothing.

“You were gone when I woke up.” She crosses her arms.

She doesn’t mean to sound so angry, but she can’t help the hurt. He should know better, he should automatically know when she needs him. 

“I didn’t mean to. I wanted to answer the call before it woke you up. Did it wake you up?” 

No, that would be the blind panic.

“No, I woke up on my own. Was it important?”

She can't just ask if it's about Christy or she'd reveal her eavesdropping.

"No, nothing you need to worry about," he says quietly.

That's the worst thing one can say to people who worry because now she worries more than ever. Either she’s paranoid or he’s hiding something from her - there’s something peculiar in his tone.

"Ah, but I'm a big sister, I always worry." She can't stay quiet about Christy, but tries not to accuse him of anything. "I figured you might have heard something about Christy by now?"

"Oh no, nothing yet."

She doesn't think it's a lie, but she can't be sure. Maybe it is true. He couldn't lie to her about something as important as Christy. His eyes reveal no deceit, but maybe she doesn't know how to read them after all.

"But you'll tell me as soon as you know?"

She has to let go of the peculiar feeling that gnaws at the corner of her mind. She needs his promise to be true, she needs to calm down. If she’ll stop thinking about it, maybe she can forget.

"Of course, you have my word." He touches her cheek, still clammy from the cold sweat. “Are you okay? You seem…”

Anxious? Irrational? Desperate? Suspicious of everything, even him?

“I think it was a bad dream, I can’t remember.” She tries to control her breathing.

She doesn’t mention it’s the horror of waking up that’s much worse than any nightmare could be. She still can’t understand her overblown reaction, uncertain if she should ask help. He has too much to worry as it is, she can’t burden him with her crazy right now. She can’t be his patient, or the mad wife he would have to lock up in the attic. 

He’s surprised when she leans into him. Quick to pull her in, his embrace is gentle but steady. Worried she might fall apart if he’ll let go, she clings to him tightly as few residual shivers run down her spine.

“Mary, you’re shaking. Are you sure you don’t remember your nightmare?”

“No, I think this might be because of Christy. Mason, I need to remember her, I can’t go on like this,” she says urgently.

“I can see that,” he murmurs soothingly when he pulls away. 

“And I need to remember Steve. Who was he?" 

"He was a lawyer, like me. He accused and prosecuted my brother Ted for the rape. I defended Ted against him."

"Steve sounds like a real piece of work." 

"He was. He tried to attack her again but luckily Christy could defend herself the other time. Neither of you have to worry about him ever again."

"I have all this love for someone I can't remember. Isn't that odd?"

"Your capacity to love has never ceased to amaze me," he murmurs, his expression full of tender admiration.

"You have connections, right? Private investigators? Could you help me track her down?"

"Of course I can. I have a photo of her too, let's see if that helps to jog your memory."

He goes through his papers and picks up a photo.

"Here, you see? This is Christy."

He holds a picture of a pretty blonde girl. She's taken in by Christy's big blue sad eyes, but she doesn't recognize the lost girl in the picture. With a burning ache in her chest, she wants to give up and give in to disappointment. Is any of this worth it? She doesn't have it in her to fight back. It’s only morning and the darkness is already winning. She welcomes the numbness, letting the murk in her mind surround her thoughts. Numb is better than panic, better than pain.

She's all cried out, she can't do it anymore. 

Mason observes her, clearly frustrated he can't alleviate her struggle in any way. She wants to put on a brave face but knows he doesn't buy her act.

"Do you remember her?"

"No," she admits flatly.

He wraps his arms tightly around her. She leans her head against his shoulder but stays motionless. He interprets her silence as shock, and maybe it is. She lets him silently hold her in his arms. 

"I should remember her, shouldn't I? What kind of a sister doesn't remember her own flesh and blood?" Her voice sound numb even to her own ears.

"Mary, you need to give yourself time because you can't force these things. It might make things worse if you do. I promise we're going to find her and then you can talk with her. A picture is nothing compared to the real deal. I bet it will get better when you see her in real life."

"Promise?"

He takes her face between her hands and looks deeply in to her eyes. 

"I promise," he vows, his voice ardent and tender.

A tiny ray of light shines through the clouds. Maybe she can let herself feel hope again. She'd love nothing more than believe he’s right, to believe he can promise that. She looks at him, mesmerized by his manner. He’s so sure that everything is going to be okay. 

She wants to believe he’s right. She has to. What other choice does she have?

* * *

The front door isn’t even closed behind Mason, and she suspects something is wrong.

She observes him when he slumps on to the couch without uttering a word. He doesn’t say anything but she can see there’s a mental conversation - a whole argument - going on in his head. He stares blankly into something she can’t see. 

“Rough day?” She puts her hand on his shoulder.

“You could say that, yeah.” He chuckles to himself. 

It’s a humorless laugh with no warmth in it.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“It might help.”

“I doubt it,” he says flatly.

She’s getting nowhere.

“Maybe you should transfer that case of yours to somebody else?”

That’s the thing that brings him out of his stupor.

“No, I can handle this, I can fix it. You just need to give me more time.” There’s a flash of irritation in his eyes. “You can’t talk me out of this, I won’t allow it.”

Talk him out of what exactly? An annulment he’s taking way too seriously for his own good?

“I’m not trying to talk you out of anything, I’m only trying to understand why you’re so affected by this. Why is this case so important to you?”

“Because she is important to me.”

She wants to ask why he takes this other woman’s marriage as seriously as his own. His blind devotion to the lady and her annulment are starting to affect her as well, even when she knows it shouldn’t. Who in his family would be in such a desperate need of an annulment? It has to be one of his sisters, because he wouldn’t feel this strongly for anyone outside of his own blood. Pity she can’t remember Eden or Kelly, because she’s sure she would like them. Mason obviously loves them, even if he would never admit out loud how deeply he cares for his family.

“What does she think?”

“She thinks I‘m too hard on the husband, but she’s much too kind-hearted for her own good. He needs to pay for what he did to-” He hesitates, “to her. And I will make him pay, to the fullest extent. Do you understand that?”

She does what she can to do so, having very little idea where he’s coming from, and why he is so angry. Who is he fighting with right now? The husband? Her?

“I can understand how deeply you care about this case, but I can also see the toll it has taken on you. Maybe you’re too close to it? Maybe it’s time to let go and give it to someone who isn’t quite as… uh, invested in it?”

“You don’t have to worry about me. It’s just like you said, a rough day. Sometimes he can get under my skin.”

“Maybe I could help if I knew the facts.”

“The facts are that he was horrible to her and their marriage should have never taken place. Right now she's where she's supposed to be, with the person she should be with - the one who would never hurt her. That's all there's to it."

“But a marriage is one of the sacraments of the church.” 

She doesn’t remember much, but she remembers what she believes in.

"Even if it’s to the wrong person? Marriage is what two people make it to be, you don't need the church to tell you what you already know in your heart." 

“Yeah, you kind of do. Two people can be together, but it’s not a real marriage. I wish your client all the happiness in the world with her new relationship, but she’s still married to her husband.”

“Even if the husband made her life miserable?” he argues, grimly.

“A marriage can’t be dismissed just like that. Even if-”

“Even if it was never consummated? Not-” He makes a visible effort to calm himself. “Not in the way a marriage should be consummated.”

“No kids, then?”

“No kids,” he echoes hollowly.

Already on the edge, Mason takes a turn for the worse and buries his face in his hands. He is too invested in this case, he needs a break. 

“That should make it easier, right?” She tries to lift his spirits. “If she doesn’t have kids.”

“But she would have made a wonderful mother.” His tone is lifeless. “The best. She told me how much she wanted and loved them.”

He’s making no sense. No kids mean it’ll be easier for him to win the annulment, but he makes it sound like it’s a tragedy.

“Was it something about the kids today that got under your skin? Did he say something?”

“Yeah, he was rather cruel about it. I didn’t realize how much it still…” His voice falters when he looks up at her.

All of a sudden, he buries his face in her stomach and wraps his hands around her. She panics at his reaction and lifts her hands in the air when he grasps her waist. Usually, he’s the one keeping her steady but right now, he might go under if he'll let go of her. If she lets go of him. 

When she thinks of Mason and how alone he is with everything, her heart breaks at the thought. She cups her hand around the back of his head. She can handle this, she can help him. She runs her fingers through his hair but stops. She knows this. It’s a thought she cannot articulate, but it’s visceral. It’s something that’s theirs, hers and Mason’s. He looks up in agitated despair and a surge of protectiveness runs through her. She wants to lift him up from his personal purgatory, but doesn’t know how. 

“Mason, talk to me. Tell me.” 

He’s unraveling before her eyes and there’s nothing she can do to help him. So much for being a good wife to him. He doesn’t say anything, so it startles her when he suddenly kisses her stomach, making it twist in knots. The small gesture is charged with more significance she can understand. She can’t comprehend her own reaction to it, one tender kiss shouldn’t hit such a painful chord, and yet, it’s nigh a physical ache in her chest.

She tries not to react, but she’s afraid of his reaction and the twisted intimacy between them only he can understand - because only he can remember it. But she feels it, like a tangible cord between their hearts, always pulling her towards him. What terrifies her the most is what’s inside of her, the sudden, sickening fear now tearing her insides. The darkness that crawls closer again. She wants to beg for his help, but he’s in no position to help anyone, not even himself. It’s up to her to keep him afloat. 

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be alright.” She continues to smooth his hair with her hand.

“It’s not, it won’t be.” He sounds ragged. “But thanks for saying it.” 

He presses his cheek against her and tightens his hold. 

“I hate to see you like this,” she murmurs gently. 

Her words are wrong. They don't mean what she wants them to, because he lets go of her waist and pulls away abruptly. Her words hurt him when she would do just about anything to take that pain away and carry it for him. 

He gets up swiftly and turns away from her. She tries to reach out for him, but he doesn’t see her hand.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that, it won’t happen again.” 

And he is gone.

“Mason, I didn’t mean it like that. I hate this helplessness I feel. Let me help you, talk to me.”

“No, you were right. I hate to see myself like this, too. Very unbecoming for a grown man to act like a helpless c-child.” His voice hitches.

“Mason, that’s not true and you know it. You’re at the end of your rope, there’s no shame in admitting that. You’re human, you’re allowed to be hurt. You’re allowed to ask for help. I’m here for you. Trust me.”

He smiles to her politely and she knows the moment is lost. He doesn’t trust her. Every time he’s about to open up, he stops at the nick of time and closes down. For some reason he can barely ever let himself be vulnerable in front of her, as if it’s a sign of weakness. She’s nothing but weak with him, so it would be only polite of him to return the favor every now and then.

“Trust me, I’m okay. Just a momentarily relapse, it won’t happen again.”

She almost wishes it would. As scary as it is, it’s real. As absurd as it is, she feels like a real wife for him when he needs her.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

“Don’t I?” he asks in a small voice. 

“I won’t break, if there’s something you need to tell me, if this is too much for you. I need you to understand that.”

“Of course,” he humors her, clearly not convinced.

Before she can challenge his non-reply, the phone rings. Saved by the bell, he’s more than happy to answer it first. 

“Hello? Yes, this is Mason Capwell. Has there been any development with the case?”

Sounds official, it’s probably from work. Or not. She stops to look at the subtle change in his demeanor, when he stares at her with trouble in his eyes. Obviously conscious of her presence, he forces his voice to become neutral and his face impassive. He’s using his lawyer face with her. There is something disconcerting about his ability to do so, after teetering on the brink of an abyss just minutes ago.

She can’t hide anything from him, while he can put on his mask by sheer will.

“You’re absolutely sure? What’s the proof?” He closes his eyes. “I see. Well, if you could send me the paper work… yes, thank you. I’ll be in touch. Good bye.”

He puts the receiver down and looks at it quietly for a long time. 

“Was it about your case?”

“No, not the case, but it’s something I need to...” He can’t look at her and turns his back on her.

“Please tell me what you need. Let me help you.”

“I can’t do this right now, I need to get out.” He heads for the door.

“Mason, we were in the middle of a conversation!”

She might as well talk to herself because he’s already gone.

_**Don’t mention kids. That will send Mason running.** _


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She understands how particularly ill-equipped he is to see her hurt. He wants to cosset her and right now, she can't blame him for that. She welcomes it. But it's not the pain that gets her. Right now she'd give anything to feel even that, just to feel anything.

Something is wrong, somebody is in her room. She wakes feeling a pair of eyes on her. 

She blinks a couple of times to adjust to the darkness around her, confused by the motionless figure at the doorway. Mason. He’s back home, finally, at some ungodly hour. Silhouetted by the light behind him, the darkness of the room obscures his face. Even without seeing his expression, she can tell something is off. He’s off. 

His movements are too slow and unsure when he walks towards the bed. Her mind catches up when he opens his mouth and attempts to say her name. His slurred voice tells her everything she needs to know.

He’s drunk.

She should open her mouth, ask what’s wrong. Help him. But she wants to leave, avoid, escape. She hates this, she hates seeing him like this. How can he do this to her? He would rather turn to the bottle for help than her? How little does he trust her?

He sits on to the bed next to her. His befuddled behavior is nothing compared to the empty look in his eyes when he stares at her. He doesn’t say anything. She should move away from him but her limbs are too heavy. 

“Mason?”

“She’s dead,” he blurts out, clearly unable to stop himself.

He seems shocked at his words, as if they’re the wrong ones. Maybe they are. 

“Who’s dead?”

She knows but cannot think it. 

“Christy, she’s dead.” He takes her hand into his. “Your sister is dead.”

“I see.” 

She looks down at his hand. It feels sweaty against her skin. That’s unusual.

“Do you?” He tilts his head, his eyes trying to focus on hers. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Sure, you said that Christy is dead.” She meets his eyes and nods calmly.

She’s not sure why he’s so hung up on those words. 

“Have you been drinking too? Because you’re not… this isn’t-” He sighs. "I don't have enough mental faculties for this conversation right now."

“You were drinking?” she asks stupidly. “Why?”

What’s so bad that he would need liquid encouragement?

“Er… “ He stares at her, unsure. “I thought it would help to numb the pain. It didn’t.”

“What, the drinking? I could’ve told you that. Numb isn't good. Numb is just numb.”

“You told me that before.” He gives her a wan smile.

“You should have listened to me.”

“I really should have. If I had listened to you before, done what you asked me to do, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess.” He glances at her midriff. “And we’d be up at this hour for a completely different reason.”

She’s not sure what to make of his words or his miserable smile.

“It’s two AM, I don’t think anyone should be up at this hour. I think it’s best we both get some sleep.”

“You’re right, we should.” His movements are still unsteady when he tries to stand up.

“You don’t have to go. You could sleep here, if… if you want to.”

For some reason, she doesn’t want to sleep alone tonight. Drunk or not, he’s still Mason, she needs him. 

“If you’re absolutely sure?”

He keeps looking at her as if she’s crazy. Maybe she is. Not that she thinks there’s anything unusual to ask one’s husband to sleep with her in the same bed. 

“Oh, absolutely.”

The faint smell of alcohol bothers her but she finds comfort in his closeness. She grabs his hand when he softly brushes her cheek, and a familiar warmth wells in her chest. She knows this, this is home. She looks up at the ceiling and can sense his eyes intent on her, like he’s trying to read her mind. Maybe he can, and maybe he can tell her too what’s going on in there. There’s so much noise. Try as she might, she can’t make sense of what haunts her mind. Something is off.

* * *

  
She opens her eyes, disoriented. Where is she? She looks around in a cold, sterile room. This isn’t home. She hears a monotone song from a monitor, beeping away her heartbeats. Is she back in the hospital? Her mind can't be always trusted, but she's sure that she doesn’t have an appointment today. She shouldn’t be here, not alone.

No, not alone, her sister is here. She herself is not the patient, she’s here visiting Christy.

“Oh Christy, what did he do to you?”

_She’s not here._

She watches her sleep. Her sweet, precious sister lies on the bed all beaten up, violated. She takes Christy’s hand and presses her cheek against the back of her sister’s hand. It’s so cold.

“I should’ve protected you.”

There’s no response. No squeeze of hand, no opening her eyes, or a soft whisper to tell she’s awake. The only sound is the steady beat from the heart monitor as her baby sister rests silent. Is she at peace? She looks peaceful, even with her scarred face.

Unlike herself. It is getting harder to think straight, with her mind about to slide into petrifying bedlam, and she has no way to stop it. She tightens her hold on her sister, pressing Christy’s hand against her cheek. If she begs, could Christy help calm her mind? If she prays, would she stay? 

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you, please forgive me. Please stay with me.” 

Unforgiving, Christy remains still, unmoved by her pleas. She looks down, startled to see her former nun’s uniform on herself. Is she a nun again? No wonder Christy doesn’t respond to any of her prayers. 

Her eyes shoot up when there’s an irregularity to her heartbeat. Is she in some distress? Now the monitor is completely blank, with no signs of life, no heartbeat, nothing.

_There’s nobody else here._

Yes, there is! She is here with Christy. _Was_ here with Christy, the bed is empty now. Her eyes dart around the room. The room has a nightmarish sense of unreality to it now, its white walls turning darker. 

Caught between what’s real and what’s not, the voice whispering the truth she doesn't want to hear is getting louder.

_She’s not here._

Is she losing her mind or is she lost in it? She needs to focus. She takes a deep breath, centering herself.

“Mary?”

She looks up and sees a doctor beside her. It’s not her doctor, but there’s something familiar about him, even when half of his face is covered by a surgical mask. She knows those eyes, she likes them. He has kind eyes.

“Where did she go?” 

“She was never here. It’s just the two of us.” He reaches for her and his hand is warm, unlike Christy’s. 

With the mask on his face, she isn’t sure if he’s telling her the truth. But why would he lie? And where is she?

“Are you sure?”

“Mary, you need to wake up.”

“What?”

She looks around, hoping to find Christy again on the bed. Except there’s no bed there anymore, let alone a room. There's nothing but dark silence around them. She closes her eyes and opens them again. 

The illusion is gone, she’s not in the hospital or in the darkness anymore. She is home, on the bed, next to Mason. The sunlight is peeking behind the curtains.

“Where is she?” Her brain is still locked on repeat.

“She’s not here. It’s just us, there’s nobody else.” Mason’s steady voice tethers her back to reality. “You had bad dream.”

“She’s not here,” she repeats.

His grip on her hand is so tight it hurts as he clutches it against his chest. She can feel his heartbeat. That’s real. The truth of it crashes down on her. If he’s real, Christy is not. 

“You need to wake up, are you awake?” 

“I’m awake, Mason, I’m okay. I know she’s not here.” 

She knows Christy is dead. 

“You dreamed about her?” He finally loosens his grip. 

“Yeah, she wouldn’t listen to me. She’s-” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer, burying his face to her neck.

“I’m so sorry how I broke it to you and gave you nightmares. But it was horrible, I wasn’t… I couldn’t-”

“I know, it is horrible,” she admits flatly.

Her sister is dead. She should feel awful, but she doesn’t feel anything - quite the opposite, actually. It’s the absence of feeling that she finds overwhelming. The only thing she can feel is his arms around her and his breath on her neck, making it tingle.

"Mary? Please talk to me," he pulls back when she doesn’t continue. 

His hair is a mess, should she mention that? But he doesn’t look hungover anymore. What time is it? Oh, and the abyss wants to swallow her whole, but how to work that into a conversation?

“What do you want me to say?” 

She runs her fingers through his hair to smooth it down. There, much better.

“Mary…” He stares at her, mystified.

He probably thinks she’s losing it again, but she’s not. She just doesn’t have words. Or feelings. She does have him.

“It’s okay, Mason, you don’t have to worry about me.” 

He has a nice chest, so firm. So smooth under her touch. She revels how fast he reacts to her fingers when she suddenly runs them down his abdomen. For a second his brain seems to run on empty, because he opens and shuts his mouth but no sound comes out. 

He looks at her like she’s a mirage he can't quite believe in.

“I can’t help it, I can't bear to see you in pain.” He takes her traveling hand into his, forcing her to pay attention. “Let me help you get through this. You need to tell me how you feel, what you need." 

She understands how particularly ill-equipped he is to see her hurt. He wants to cosset her and right now, she can't blame him for that. She welcomes it. But it's not the pain that gets her. Right now she'd give anything to feel even that, just to feel anything. 

"Do you love me?" She lifts her face to him.

She knows he does but yearns for some clarity between them. She needs it to be said out loud right now, no matter to what end. But nothing prepares her for the devotion she sees in his eyes. 

"More than life," he answers fervently.

"Love me then, Mason, because I need you," she prays.

Something seems to change in him, that invisible wall around him crumbling down. A rare glimpse of the man behind the mask. 

He draws her closer and she can feel the anticipation welling inside her.

"Do you understand what you're asking of me?" he murmurs against her lips, voice thick and slurred with desire.

As hard as she tries to maintain composure, she's overwhelmed by the intensity of his need. But she's ready, she can do this. She needs him to fill the void, to make her feel something, anything. 

"I do."

“Mary, are you absolutely sure?” 

"Yes," she says, "yes.”

She looks at him directly in the eyes as she removes her nightgown. His breathing becomes irregular when she removes his boxers. He doesn't dare to touch her, as if she's some precious porcelain that would shatter from the lightest touch. One bad dream isn’t going to get to her. He needs to learn she doesn't break that easily.

He’s so still she wonders if he’s under some sort of spell. Probably. To break it, she swings her leg over him to sit on top of him. There's no fear, no turning back, her body lit with excitement. 

“God, Mary…” He takes a shuddering breath.

He looks up to her, uncomprehending, like she’s some deity about to grant him his deepest desire. She might, if he’ll play nice.

She sways her hips back and forth ever so slightly. His whole body tenses up and he closes his eyes. She could so easily guide him inside her, have all of him right now.

Intoxicated by her sudden power over him, she’s just about to do that when he opens his eyes and grabs her thighs.

“Stop.”

“But why? You said you loved me.”

“More than you can understand, but I don’t want to rush this.” He reprimands her gently. “You need to be ready.”

“I’m ready, Mason,” she insists, but lets him hold her still.

“Let me be the judge of that.” He grins when he swings her off balance and swiftly moves on top of her.

Breathless, she stares at him in shock, unable to understand how she lost all control in a matter of seconds. There’s still a hint of a smile curving his lips before he starts to kiss her face, her neck, her breasts, her body. Clearly determined to worship her with his mouth and hands, he slowly explores every inch of her, his fingers softly mapping out her body. Lost in the sensation he is giving to her, her thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind as she closes her eyes. 

She knows this, as if her body remembers how he feels, even when her mind doesn’t. So good, so right. But then he stops.

Forced back to the real world, she opens her eyes and sees him staring at her with intensity that makes her shiver. He draws his fingers across her temple, over her jawline, across her lips. Memorizing her face.

She doesn’t want to memorize anything, just forget. She takes his hand and kisses inside his palm, her eyes fixed on his, enjoying how he still tries to control himself - with very little success. Without breaking their eye contact, she shamelessly guides his hand between her legs. She’s ready. 

“Mason…” she pleas.

The exhilarating sensation from his hand alone is ready to send her off the edge, and her body curves into him.

“You’ll be the end of me.” His voice is low. “Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?”

She has a pretty good idea.

She smiles when he’s ready. Finally. But instead of giving her what she so craves, he stops to look at her again. Does he get off on driving her insane?

“I love you,” he whispers as he slowly buries himself deep within her. 

“I…” Her eyes roll back and she loses the ability to form thoughts, let alone words.

She’s so full of him. The overwhelming sensation sweeps through her like a wave, washing away everything else, as if her whole body melts into liquid. To have him inside her is a relief so intense she can feel it to her core. 

She looks at him and is rewarded by a look of utter adoration. She has all of him. The world around her disappears. She can let go, she doesn’t have to think. She can finally forget everything, as if she is wrapped in a kind of dream, with only him there with her. 

* * *

  
_She had to turn away from the abyss before it could take her. Drawn in by the sad music, she stepped back in to the ball room, still shaking from what she had seen._

_Everybody would see what a fool she had been for trying to go out, and mock her. Now there was all the more reason to keep herself hidden. When he gently offered her his hand, she let him lead her back in, surprised that all the other guests were gone. He told her he had wished them gone and away they had went. There was only him left, and he would never ridicule her._

_He didn't even seem to mind her simple clothing like the others had. He had paid them no mind at all, for the whole time they had danced, he had gazed only at her. Maybe he imagined her in a dress more glamorous. Maybe he was under some sort of spell that blinded him to her true form._

_She remembered how well he had answered her previous questions, making him the wisest man she had ever known. It was only a matter of time before he would see through her, but she had to ask him more, even at the risk of revealing herself. When she asked him a question he couldn't answer, he pulled away from her. Yearning for his company in the vast mirror hall, she begged him to come back._

_He agreed but proposed she asked him something else. She asked him something she already knew the answer to. She asked if he loved her._

—

She wakes up with her head resting atop his shoulder. She quickly glances whether he's awake but no, he's still asleep. The obscure remnants of her dream are right there between them, if only she could reach out and catch them.

"Mary?" He opens his eyes and catches her looking at him. "Are you okay?"

She smiles in response but doesn't say anything, unable to describe the warped sense of reality from her dream. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer. It's comforting, being enveloped by his warmth, with his breathing matching hers.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He hesitates. "About Christy?"

Her sister is dead. That’s real, she knows that.

She instinctively draws closer to him and puts her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She just breathes, trying quietly to put the pieces together. The only picture seared into her mind is from her nightmare, with Christy in the in hospital. She doesn’t remember what she wants to: their childhood or their time together. How can she mourn for someone she doesn’t quite exactly remember, but whose loss she feels as keenly as if it is a fist tightly gripping around her heart?

“I still don’t know what to say.”

“Normally, I’d advice to remember the good things, but-” He clears his throat.

“Yeah, my thoughts as well,” she says flatly. “Right now I’d even take the bad things if I could.”

A fleeting thought of Steve makes her slightly nauseous.

“I’m sorry, Mary.”

“I know.” She lifts her head. “How well did you know her?”

"There really isn't that much I can say about her."

"I see."

"You sound disappointed."

"No, it's not your fault. It's just something I need to figure out myself."

He doesn't say anything, but he tenses up underneath her and his grip tightens around her.

"You know I'll help you any way I can." He sounds bothered.

"Of course." She wants to reassure him.

“I… we didn’t meet in the best of circumstances. Christy accused my brother Ted of raping her when it was actually Steve. I can’t say I really knew her.”

“No love lost there, I take it?” She searches for his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to ask, how did I fit in to that scenario?”

“You protected her as fiercely as a tigress would protect her cub. As Ted’s defense lawyer you saw me as a threat to her.”

“That must have been fun.”

“Yeah, it was fantastic, the best time of my life. The woman of my dreams despised me. Although, I’m sure it was mostly to cover your burning passion for me,” he deadpans.

“Was I insufferable to you?”

“No, you were protecting your own, there’s no shame in that. If anything, it made me want you more. You did struggle with yourself, though, you were so hard on yourself. That’s when you left the convent.”

“I did?” She remembers Mother Isabel’s words.

“You didn’t think you could measure up, be what you thought a nun should be.” 

With the blinding hatred she has for Steve even when she can’t remember him, she can imagine herself saying that. But she doesn’t want to imagine her past self, she wants to know herself. After everything she already knows about Mason, she still doesn’t know who Mary is. It’s driving her crazy. Or, crazier.

"Am I ever going to remember?" 

"Can you handle it if you don't?" He looks at her attentively, waiting for her reaction.

“I’m not sure I want to find out, but I fear it’s out of my hands. No matter how hard I try to, I can’t make myself remember - even my own family. I think I need help.”

"It's okay, you don't have to force it. To my understanding it's best that you don't. The more you try to push it, the harder it will be to remember. That's how your doctor warned me," he insists. “You have to trust I’ll help you any way I can.”

“Of course, Mason,” she assures him, but is confused by her doctor’s orders. "He did? I can't remember when he said that."

"He said it to me before I took you home." He’s watching her carefully.

His words make her feel a little peculiar, but she won't fret over them. 

"Tell me about us."

"What do you want to know?" He smiles but his voice is apprehensive.

She wants to know more about who she is, to remember how to be his wife. Who better to ask than her husband?

"From what I gathered, it hasn't always been smooth sailing between us, has it?" She leans her head against his chest again.

"That would be an understatement, but that's right."

Under her ear, she can't understand why his heart is picking up the pace. 

"You said it took me a long time to let myself love you. Do you know why?" 

"I don't know, do you?" he snaps at her unexpectedly.

She holds her breath because she doesn't. She suspects it's because out of fear - but a fear of what, exactly? Surely not Mason?

"I'm sorry, Mary, that's not fair to you. You said it was because you thought it was only a game for me. It wasn't," he says amiably, looking at her affectionately as he holds her tightly to his side. 

She tries to shake his reaction because it's evident how much he regrets his harshness. She relaxes against him, tension easing out of her body. It’s the same ghost of past Mason clearly can’t get over - the Mary who wouldn’t let herself love him. He still can’t forgive her that. She wants to fix it and assure him how much she loves him, but other words - cowardly ones - come out of her mouth.

"Was it love at first sight for you?"

"You did knock me off my feet, for sure. I couldn't stop thinking about you. You were like no other woman I've ever met in my life. You made me want to be a better man. Someone worthy of you."

"Sounds like quite the pedestal you put me on." She can't help herself. "I'm only human. I'm sure I disappointed you."

"You could be a-" He exhales. "A challenge."

"Mhhmm? Tell me more." She smiles, drawing circles on his chest with her finger.

"You said you didn't believe in sex before marriage."

"That sounds like something I would say, even without my memories."

"Huh. Some things never change." 

"We waited until we were married?"

"You were a married woman when we first slept together, yes." He looks at the ceiling.

She wonders about his curious way to word it but decides to not dwell on it. She's impressed because patience doesn't seem to be Mason’s strongest suit.

"Good, I'm glad. That means so much to me." 

"I know." 

His voice and manner unsettle her for a reason she can't name.

"Where did we go on our honeymoon?"

"We never really got the chance to go. We should rectify that someday."

"We haven't been married very long, have we?"

"No, we've only just begun." He smiles as he pulls her in for a kiss.

She has more questions, but he's not in the mood to answer them. In fact, he's clearly in the mood for something else entirely when his hand tightens on her waist, pulling her in. When his other hand travels between her legs, any questions she might have lose all meaning. 

All she can see are his eyes fixed on hers when she melts around his fingers. When he moves on top of her, rest of the world ceases to exist altogether. It's only two of them, wrapped in each other, exactly where they're supposed to be.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her past self will always be between them until she can remember who she is. Who she was.

**_I know she is dead, but it doesn’t feel real. This is not how big sisters are supposed to react. Even Mason can see that._ **

She knows she’s supposed to feel traumatized but… does she? She doesn’t feel like it. She doesn’t feel anything about it.

Shouldn’t she? Shouldn’t she at least look different? Shouldn’t losing a part of your family change a person somehow? She stares dully at the woman staring back at her from the mirror, but it shows the same reflection it does every morning. She recognizes the same clueless woman who can’t trust her own brain. She doesn’t even remember how to mourn right.

Despite her bleak thoughts, she can't help but cheer up a little when Mason comes up from behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He looks so happy to see her, and she smiles at the domestic scene reflected in the mirror. At least she has her husband, at least she can trust him. The love and devotion she sees reflected in his eyes help her breathe easier.

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispers to her ear when their eyes meet through the mirror. “Did you sleep well?”

“Sure.” Her smile wanes.

He looks at her curiously but doesn't pursue the matter any further. She doesn’t sound convincing even to her own ears, but she’s not ready to share the unease her dreams leave behind, especially since she can’t remember them. The only image that is now committed to her memory is Christy’s beaten face and her broken body, and she would happily forget that nightmare. 

“This is the day when the judge is going to make his final decision on the annulment?” She looks at his suit, desperate to change the subject.

“Yeah, this is it.” A shadow crosses his eyes before he continues. “I beg of you, no more adventures. I need you to stay here.”

“I promise, Mason.” 

The outside world with all its chaos doesn’t tempt her one bit, she’s happy where she is, nuzzling against him. She’s restless but she’s not sure why. A part of her wants to beg him to stay home, but she can’t. What would she say? Unable to say what it is that frightens her, he would think she’s crazy. Maybe she is.

But she needs him.

He must sense her reluctance to let him go because he promises to be back as soon as he can. She puts on a brave face and sends him off with a smile.

When there’s a knock on the door after a few hours, she’s amazed how quickly Mason is back. But why not use his own key? 

“Mr. Capwell, what a surprise!” She stares at her new visitor.

“C.C., I insist.” He chuckles when she welcomes him in with open arms.

“Of course. Did you want to see Mason? He’s at work if you need him.”

“No, I wanted to see how my favorite person has gotten on after that horrible accident.” He brushes her temple softy. “We haven’t had a chance to have a proper talk. Not without Mason.”

She’s deeply moved by Mr. Capwell’s concern, even though she barely knows him. Funny how both of the Capwell men manage to make her feel safe in their own way.

“Doctors insist I’m in top condition, minus the amnesia. But I’m sure my memories have to return eventually… right?”

“I’m sure, and we will find you the best experts to help you do so. Any resource you need, just say the word and I’ll get it for you.”

It’s a humbling feeling to understand someone she barely knows - remembers - can be so devoted to her wellbeing. She’s not sure why she deserves such fierce loyalty from the Capwells. She’s not sure she’s worthy.

“All I need is to remember who I was,” she says simply.

“I bet you already know a lot more than you think you do, you just need to trust you can handle it.”

“I guess.” She shrugs.

Mason doesn’t seem to think so. He doesn’t trust she’s capable to take care of herself, and at this point, he knows her better than she does. When he doubts her, she tends to lose confidence in herself. It’s not like she can rely on herself. How can she, if she doesn't even know who she is?

“Is Mason treating you right? Trying to get an answer from him is like pulling out teeth.”

She flinches at his accusatory tone. If only C.C. could give her husband the benefit of the doubt. 

“He has been everything to me, I couldn’t ask for more,” she praises him, easily. “Would you like some coffee?”

He accepts and when they sit together at the table, she’s struck by the ease he feels around Mason’s dad. Like he’s her dad, too. What is it about the father and son with their dark eyes that spark instant trust in her, even when she can’t remember either of them? Maybe it’s a family thing?

“I’ve been terribly worried about you, Mary. The accident was…” He clears his throat before he leans over the table to touch her hand. “Such a tragedy, knowing what it cost you. I feel I’m partly to blame. Can you forgive me?”

A cold feeling grows at the pit of her stomach when he talks about it as if somebody’s dead. She’s still there - alive and… well, alive anyway.

“C.C., as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.” She squeezes his hand. “You sound a lot like your son, he blames himself too. It was an accident, out of our hands.”

“Had you been on that roof had I not interfered? Had you argued with Mason had I stayed out of it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I only meddled because I care for you so much. I refused to see how much Mason loved you - loves you - because I thought he would be the one to hurt you in the end.” 

The one? Is there someone else?

“Have you talked to Mason about this?”

“I’ve tried but he won’t listen. He has frozen me out ever since the hospital. He wouldn’t even let me in your room after you woke up.”

Huh. 

“I can’t speak for him, but I can see he’s under a lot of stress.” She feels compelled to defend him.

Because of her. He has to fix his wife before he can return to his normal life.

“As are you, I can imagine. You look different, somehow.”

“I do?”

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Am I ever going to remember?” She repeats the loop stuck in her brain, driving her insane.

“Of course you will.”

“How can you be so sure?” She can’t help but smile at his unwavering faith in her - it’s almost infectious. 

“Because I know you and how strong you are. It was your strength that helped me through the darkness when I was in a coma. Let me guide you through yours.”

“You were in the darkness too?” She brightens.

He understands what she’s going through, he knows what it’s like. She has someone to share the darkness with.

“I was, but there was this angel of mercy who beckoned me towards the light. You were there for me, I won’t ever forget it. You saved me.” 

That explains the connection with him, the bond she has with her father-in-law that runs way deeper than her memories. Deeper than any legal contracts. It’s in her bones. 

“Sometimes I get so afraid of what’s coming. I can’t see what’s behind the darkness,” she admits.

“It's okay to be scared, I was scared too. You just have to keep pushing through.”

“I can’t tell you how much that means to me, to… to…” She swallows painfully. “Thank you for saying that, I really needed to hear that.”

“I know. I remember how much it meant for me to have someone in my corner, never wavering. I’m always here to help you, if you need me.”

With the shadows shifting around her head, she wouldn’t even know where to begin. Christy is the one she misses the most, but C.C. would know even less about her than Mason. C.C. might be able to help with the other thing she can’t discuss with Mason.

“Were you there when the accident happened?”

“How much do you remember-” The front door opens before he can finish the sentence.

“Mason, you’re home already?” 

There's an edge to his demeanor when Mason stares at them sitting cozily at the table, like old friends.

“What were you two talking about?” 

“I wanted to see how Mary was doing. If I waited for your invitation I’d still be waiting,” C.C. grumbles.

Feeling guilty for no good reason, she bolts out of her chair and rushes to greet Mason.

“Does this mean the annulment is settled?” She gives him a little kiss.

Pleased to have her in his arms he admits, eyes shining: “Yeah, I made him pay. He won’t be seen in this town ever again.” 

The note of menace in his voice makes her shudder. It’s clearly not directed at her because he looks at her with such revere she doesn’t know what to make of it. Does he take every case as seriously as this annulment, or is it a special case? She does feel sorry for the mystery man, but won’t say it out loud. Mason is obviously so proud of his success with the annulment that he expects praise if anything.

“I’m happy justice was served,” she says diplomatically.

Her choice of words pleases him, and she's rewarded with a hug so tight it makes her catch her breath.

“I knew you would see it my way,” he whispers to her ear.

See what?

“You know about the annulment, Mary?” C.C. turns to her, surprised. “You remember Ma-”

“Dad!” Mason interrupts as he pulls away from her. “I make a point to not take my work to home. She knows I’ve had a stressful case that’s finally over.”

“That’s it, she doesn’t know?”

Hello, she’s still there! 

“Is there something I should know?”

“No dear, nothing you need to fret over.”

Mason’s dismissal and C.C.’s worried expression sends a shadow of a feeling swirling at the back of her mind. They’re talking about her but refuse to talk to her. 

“Mason, you should-”

“Dad, I’m doing the best I can, can’t you understand?” Mason interrupts, exhausted. “Trust me that I’ll protect her. Have protected her. Everything I do, I do it for her. I make her happy, she makes me happy. Why can’t you see that?” 

“Mason, I know you do, I do see it,” he says kindly, “but wouldn’t it be for the best be if she knew?”

“No.”

“That’s it, you won’t even discuss it with me?”

“What’s there to discuss? Every time you’ve come between us, you’ve caused us nothing but pain. The last time you did it, she lost her-” He chokes on the word, having to clear his throat. “She ended up in the hospital with amnesia.” 

Their switch from kind to cruel is remarkably fast. The tenderness they both have for her vanishes before her eyes when they circle each other like two angry beasts, looking for an opening. Even when she’s not the target of Mason’s ire, the volatile darkness in his eyes makes her shy away from him. Quietly, she moves further away from them.

“You still hold me accountable?”

“How could I not? You hated me so much you wanted to hurt me the worst conceivable way. You made it your life’s mission to keep her away from me, and she had to pay the price for it,” Mason snarls.

She stays quiet, desperate for any clues she might glean from their conversation.

“How was I to know she wasn’t happy? You never tell me anything!”

“It wasn’t my place to say! And don’t you dare say you did anything for her. Every action you’ve ever done has been to spite me, you pitiful old man.”

“Spite you? The most caring thing I did was to keep her away from you! You were no good for her. She deserves the best-”

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for her.” Mason cuts him off.

“Don’t _I_ get a say in what’s best for me?” she asks, irked.

“No,” both men respond in unison.

“Excuse me? I lost my memories, not my mind. This may come as a shock to you, but I have a brain and I use it to make decisions.”

“Of course, Mary.” C.C. smiles at her patronizingly.

She doesn’t understand the perplexed look on Mason’s face when he turns to look at her. It can’t come as a shock to him that she can actually think.

“What?”

“It reminded me about something you said. Mary, do you remember saying that to me before?”

No, but she has an urge to shove an apple in to their mouths to shut them up. How odd, and yet so familiar. But the familiarity is like a fleeting spark of a thought soon to vanish from her brains. Her mind holds her memories captive, refusing to let them out.

“No, I was just annoyed that I was excluded from a conversation that was clearly about me.” She glares at both of them.

“You’re right, Mary, I’m sorry. Mason is just-”

“Mason is what?” Mason flares up again.

“Handling this all wrong. You should tell her about the accident and everything leading up to it.”

“No.”

“You can’t protect people from the truth, Mason.” 

“I can protect her, whether you can see it or not. I can be everything she needs.”

“You know that’s impossible, and in the long run, when she will remember the accident, she’s going to need help. Professional help. Can’t you see how broken she is, how exhausted?”

“She told you that?” 

“All you have to do is to look at her to see that!” 

She closes her eyes, her world shifting into something new. It's pain and noise and chaos, filled with formless grey clouds that threaten to suck her in. Is she remembering her accident? Mason’s sharp voice cuts through her thoughts.

“Mary, are you alright, do you need to sit down? You look so pale.”

“I think I should.” With her knees weak, she slumps down to a chair.

When she shuts her eyes again, she’s wearing a wedding dress. She’s holding on to Mason with her dear life, but she can't place the memory. It’s just him and her. Is it their wedding? It looks wrong, feels all wrong. It’s not a happy memory - she’s devastated and he’s the one holding her together. Shouldn’t her wedding day be her happiest memory? Not fill her with guilt and anguish. She needs to open her eyes. She needs to wake up. Trying to keep up with the rapidity of her emotions, she looks down at her hand and touches the ring on her finger, but it doesn’t calm her down. 

“See what you did, dad? She’s not well enough to handle the accident and… and e-everything leading up to it.” His words are rushed and his voice ragged.

It seems like Mason can’t handle it much better, because he looks as pale as she imagines herself. It’s their past that’s trapped behind his eyes, filling them with sorrow and rage that’s about to spill over any minute if they’ll continue to argue. Even with no clue of what’s going on between the two of them, she knows she needs to protect Mason, no matter how much she likes his dad. There’s only so much Mason can bear. It’s enough he has to carry her past on him. 

She knows this. She can handle this, she can help him. He doesn’t have to carry the burden alone anymore. 

“C.C., I was so happy you came to visit me.”

“But you wish I’d leave?” He looks down at her kindly before he takes her hand in his. “Are you sure, Mary?”

"Yes."

“As you wish, but understand my door is always open to you. You’ll always have a shoulder to lean on, only a phone call away.”

Moved by his kindness, she can only nod when tears start to flood her eyes. Mason can barely hold his temper as he ushers his dad out of the door, no doubt blaming him for her tears. He doesn’t understand they’re out of gratitude. 

With C.C. gone, Mason turns to her immediately: “Are you alright? Do you need to rest? I know how exhausting my father can be.”

“I’m fine.”

“Was it something he said? Did you remember something? Was that what knocked you out?” He wipes away her tears.

How can she tell him something she can't exactly remember? Something she can only feel stirring inside her? She’s not sure if she should mention the wedding, because she doesn’t know what to make of the pain that accompanies the memory. Who’s miserable on their wedding day?

“No, I just felt light-headed for a second. Are you okay?” She looks up at him.

“Me? Why do you ask?”

He’s pale and she notices a slight tremor in his hand when she takes it into hers.

“You don’t look too good yourself.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean. Your dad reminded me how traumatic my accident must have been for you too.” She shudders, still thinking about the grey smoke shifting around her.

The dreaded A-word. She dares to conjure up the one word they do not talk about, ever. The look in his eyes reminds her why not. The dark terror they reflect makes her want to take the word back, but she can’t. 

Her past self will always be between them until she can remember who she is. Who she was. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know you don’t, but maybe your dad was right? Maybe we should, for my sake?”

"I can’t believe that even without your memories, you’ll side with him! What is it with you two, always teaming up against me?”

Or maybe they shouldn’t. But it’s progress, at least he’s not sad anymore.

“He gets me, he understands what this is like.”

She looks at his darkening expression and understands it’s the absolute worst thing she can say to Mason.

“As opposed to me?” he asks very quietly. 

She worries when he turns quiet, like the calm before the storm.

“No, not opposed to you, I didn’t mean it like that. He told me about his stroke, how scary it was. How much my help meant to him.”

“How much did he tell you about the past?” He furrows his brows when he searches her face, but for what? Recognition? 

“We didn’t get very far, he wanted to see if I was alright. He wanted to show some compassion, I think.”

“Well, that’s more than he’s ever shown me.” His mouth twists. “Did he try to smear my name to you again?”

“No, nothing like that. He was only worried about me.”

She doesn’t bring up C.C.’s attempted visit to the hospital. What good would it do? It would only estrange them further, and C.C. would be completely banned from their life. 

“I really don’t get you two and your instant connection, with or without your memories.”

“He seems to think I saved him.”

“You did save him,” he admits, his eyes shining. “And you saved me, in more ways than one.”

He looks at her, but doesn’t see her. He's lost to some other time, some other memory.

“And he knows what this is like - the darkness where nothing makes sense. How scary it can be.”

“But he doesn’t know you like I do, he doesn’t get you.” He’s quick to dismiss his dad.

She wants to point out how similar Mason is to his dad, but stays quiet - he wouldn’t be too happy with her assessment.

“As opposed to you?”

“I know everything about you,” he states matter-of-factly. “How you think, what makes you tick, what you’re afraid of. It’s my job to make sure you’ll never be afraid of anything ever again.”

She doesn’t know whether to agree or argue with him. He can read her like an open book, which can be unsettling in itself. He could use it against her if he wants to. But he can’t understand what she’s so afraid of, not really. Not when she’s afraid of her own thoughts, of what’s beneath the surface. There’s only so much he can protect her from. 

“You can’t protect people from the truth, Mason.”

“I can protect you.”

She looks at him doubtfully because he can’t possibly mean what he says. He can't protect her from herself, he must understand that.

“Mason… do be reasonable. You can’t protect me from my memories. You can’t protect me from getting hurt.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

“I can try,” he declares stubbornly, his grip tightening on her hand.

“You’re not seeing clearly, you’re too close to this.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen things as clearly as I do now. It could all be so simple if you only let it be.”

“Let what be, my mind? I kind of need it. You can’t do my thinking for me. Your dad was right, you can’t be everything-”

“Mary, stop, don’t say it. Do not repeat his words. Not you.”

His tone changes, as does his expression. Its softness turns in to something harsh and cold. Impenetrable. 

“But-”

“No.”

“That’s it, you won’t even discuss it with me?” 

She doesn’t mean to sound like Mason’s dad, but she can’t help it when she keeps running up against his wall of silence.

“No.”

“Even if he was right? I don’t think getting help would be a bad idea, for either of us. Shed some light in here.” She taps her head. “Don’t you think I can see what a burden this… I am to you?” 

“Mary, no, don’t ever think that!”

“How can I not? You’ve carried the weight of the world on your shoulders ever since I woke up in the hospital. You’ve had to take care of me, but there’s no one to take care of you. I want to help you but I don’t know how. I know I just made a whole point about not being an idiot, but I feel so helpless for not remembering.”

“I’m always here to help you.”

He doesn’t get it.

“You shouldn’t have to, that’s not what a marriage is about.”

“How would you know what marriage is about? You don’t remember what it was like,” he says brusquely. 

She draws her hand away, reeling from his biting comment: “I didn’t-”

“Mary, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it? To me it sounded like I had no idea what our marriage was about even with my memories.”

“Of course I didn’t mean it like that.” His face shows no expression.

“Were we unhappily married?”

“No! There were obstacles in our way, but we were ecstatic when people left us alone.”

“Like your dad?”

“Well, you heard us. He and I don’t always see eye to eye when it comes to you. He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.” His voice cracks. “His own son.” 

“Why does he think that?” she presses on.

She senses his reluctance to answer but won’t back down. She’s amazed how bluntly she dares to ask him these questions, but she can feel the shift happening within her. The chaos inside, triggered by the peculiar memory, rising towards the surface both scares and exhilarates her. 

It is terrifying and it is good.

She wants to understand how a man who can be so kind to her, can be so cruel to his own son. Everything he would do for her, he’d deny Mason. Doesn’t he see Mason is just as broken as she is?

“You should ask him that. He has always hated me.”

“Maybe I should,” she says softly, her heart aching for Mason.

His eyes narrow when he turns to her: “Maybe you shouldn’t. The man rendered you to tears in five minutes, he’s no good for you. I told you to stay away from him.”

“It wasn’t like that. Sometimes tears can be good.”

“I see. Do you feel the same way about Christy? You still haven’t cried one drop for your dead sister,” he reminds her acidly.

She stands up so abruptly the chair beneath her falls down, but she has to physically create distance between them to be able to handle his blows. How dare he use Christy against her?

“That’s different. Christy is mine alone, not ours. You don’t know her. My accident was painful for you too.” She steps back further and crosses her arms.

“No, your pain is always my pain, before and now, no matter what the cause. You hurt, I hurt. You refused to see it back then. What will it take to make you understand that?” His eyes are fixed on her face, watching her every emotion as he moves closer. 

“I get that there’s a lot of hurt from our past, Mason, but please don’t expect me to answer for them. Not now, not when I don’t have anything to shield myself with.” She moves behind the table.

“God, Mary, you don’t ever have to shield yourself from me! Is that what you think of me? I’m your husband, I’m your shield against them.”

“Them?”

“My father. Them. The whole world.”

“It’s us against them, huh?”

“Always has been. It’s not like they gave us any option.” He circles around the table to move in front of her, and grabs her shoulders to stop her from moving.

Seeing how pointless it’s to try to get away from him, she stands still and pleads: “Mason, you need to let go of that anger someday, for your own sake.”

And hers.

“For a woman who doesn’t remember her past, you sure sound a lot like her,” he softens his voice for her.

“That’s not fair, especially since I can’t remember her. Me. Us.” 

She wants to cry when he gently lifts her chin and asks her to face him again.

“I know it isn’t, and I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“I’m trying to remember, really I am. Maybe your dad was right, maybe I am broken. I can’t make myself be like her. Mary. Me.”

“He’s not.” He cups her face. “You’re not broken, you’re perfect just the way you are. You are Mary, you don’t have to try to be someone else. Just let the memories come at their own time, if they’ll come back.”

If?

She knows he’ll help her, but will he help her remember too? She knows he means well and doesn’t mean to do it, but with Mason, there’s always the same undercurrent of doubt whether she will get her memories back. Or maybe hope? 

“You don’t think I’ll remember, is that it? Is that what you’re trying to prepare me for? Did the doctor say something to you about me, something he couldn’t tell me?”

She remembers Dr. Nasch’s worried face and his suggestion to contact him whenever necessary. Is this why? But why tell her there’s no neurological reason she can’t regain her memories, why lie to her point blank about it? To give her false hope? How weak does he think she is?

And why go behind Mason’s back? The picture doesn’t add up.

“He warned there was always that possibility, the damage was severe.” He runs his fingers against her temple. “I’m only trying to prepare you for it. You shouldn’t let yourself worry about it too much, I'm your husband, it's my job to take care of you. Try to put the thing out of your head."

“Worrying seems to come naturally to me.” She tries to smile. “Shouldn’t wives conventionally take care of their husbands too?”

“You’ve already given me everything I could ask for, the hell with conventions. Before you, I didn’t even understand this kind of love was possible. Taking care of you is the only thing I need. To be your husband would be… _is_ more than I could ask for, after almost losing you.”

“Honestly, doesn't it exhaust you how you have to take care of me all the time?" 

"No, it makes me feel needed. Like I have a purpose," he responds earnestly.

"I can't be your only purpose, can I?" 

He doesn't deny it and she's not sure if he can.

“Let me be the judge of that. At my core, I’m a very simple man with simple needs. Wife, kids…” He can’t bring himself to continue.

Kids. 

Another taboo between them. The way the word dies on his lips like a broken prayer tells how much he wants them. She’s convinced he would make a wonderful father. She knows she wants children even with no memory. Why aren’t they parents yet?

“Did we try to have them?” She tests the waters. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” His voice is hoarse and he refuses to look at her.

“Mason… please talk to me,” she prods after a grave silence.

“What’s there to talk about? You’re not-” He inhales. “We’re not ready yet.”

He does think she’s broken, he does care, no matter how much he protests. She knows what a burden she is to him.

“Was it the accident? Did it damage me so badly that I can’t have kids?”

“No, the doctor said you’re physically in top condition. You know, apart from your memory.”

So, it’s only her mind that’s lost? Wonderful. It’s not like she needs it to function as an independent human being.

“Top condition, except for the head, gotcha.”

“You need to drop this issue.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“I don’t care. I’ll make it for you.” 

“Excuse me, but don’t you think I have a say in this matter? We’re going to have this discussion sooner or later. You don’t get a vote on when my brains will start to function properly again.”

Apparently neither does she, but his stubbornness is driving her crazy.

“Gaining your memories isn’t some test you need to pass, Mary. This is your life we’re talking about. My life.”

“But wouldn’t your life be so much better if I remembered?”

The briefest of expressions flashes across his face before he answers. Almost like a grimace.

“In due time. Now is not that time.”

“And you get to decide on my recovery?”

"That's ridiculous, of course not, I’m not a doctor.” He sighs. “You don’t know what you’re asking."

“Because you refuse to tell me.”

“You’re not fit to be a mother right now, can we just leave it at that?” he asks, exhausted.

She stops dead. He thinks she can’t be a mother? The arrogance of his words warps something inside her. 

He looks aghast, realizing it’s the absolute worst thing he can say to her. With one comment he manages to confirm all her fears.

“Yeah, I think you’re right, Mason, we should leave it at that.”

“Mary, you have to believe I didn’t mean it like that! I meant that you’re not fit _enough_ because of your amnesia.” He steps forward but she steps back further. “I’ve always known you would make a wonderful mother. Will make the best mother, once-”

“Sure,” she says tightly, but fights off his embrace when he reaches her. 

“Please don’t be angry with me,” he pleads in a small voice. 

He assumes she’s upset, that she’s going to argue with him. She calmer than ever before. It’s so clear now.

Nobody can tell her who she is, not even Mason. She doesn’t need to remember her past to know what she wants, what she knows to be true in her heart. She wants to be a mother. 

It doesn’t fill her only with relief but also, some peace.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's watching over her, guarding her sleep. Her half-sleep. Trance. Something. She's not even sure if she's in the present. Maybe she isn't. Maybe this was from before.

She longs for someone forgotten - by her, and by everyone, it seems.

Her dreams of her sister sometimes entwine with her dreams of being a mother, but then she remembers she’s a failure on both accounts. She’s neither a sister nor a mother.

When the paralysis of losing her sister passes, the anguish of her loss comes in waves, followed by the guilt of failing Christy. For abandoning her, for running away. She can play a sister in the church but not in her own family. Now it's too late to play anything.

Still she can't cry for her.

She wants to pretend nothing is changed between Mason and her, but can't. It’s different now, she feels different. She sees him different.

He wants her to talk more but she really doesn't want to. What more is there to say if she can’t speak freely how much she wants kids without sending him to a deep end? What more is there to say if she can’t remember Christy, and he can’t remind her? 

_**I don’t want to hurt him, but my questions clearly trouble him. There’s so much pain he refuses to acknowledge. He censors his words for me. He's always analyzing and I just want him to stop.** _

For a little while, she needs to be someone separate of him and deal with Christy in her own private reality. She needs to make it clear for herself what family means to her, without him telling her what it should mean. When she says she wants to go to the church - alone - he lets her go, with his lips drawn tighter together than his brows.

He's not happy but she can't help it.

Mother Isabel looks surprised to see her but warmly welcomes her in. As they walk slowly in the midst of the blooming flowers in the garden behind the church, she sees how the sky looks pale but hears no sadly singing nightingales. Just ordinary birds chirping as if this is an ordinary day. They should know better.

"I heard about Christy, I'm terribly sorry for your loss. Does Mason know you're here?" the nun asks cautiously.

For the life of her she can't understand the tension between Mother Isabel and Mason. Why does Mason react to the church almost like a bull to a red rag? Why does Mother Isabel worry about his reaction?

"Of course, he drove me here. Why?"

"Oh, no reason. Your last time here was rather traumatic for you and I thought maybe he wasn't too happy you came here."

"You must know Mason really well, because that's exactly what happened. Although, I think he was angrier I had gone missing."

"He's very protective of you, isn't he? Overprotective, perhaps?"

"Sure, but it's understandable after... after everything." She wants to defend him, no matter what issues she has with him.

"You're absolutely right, Mary." She pats her hand. "As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

Her friend says out loud what she can't let herself think too often. But she knows Mason does it out of love, so she won't complain.

"Do you think I hid in the church when I was a nun?" she starts, after a while.

"What makes you think that, Mary?" 

"Christy."

"You think you failed her, don't you?"

Her friend certainly doesn't beat around the bush.

"I don't-" she protests half-heartedly, but finds it pointless. "Yeah, I think I did, but I can't be sure. I don’t remember. How many times can a big sister let her little one down, even after she's dead?"

"Mary, you're being too hard on yourself, you have amnesia. And back then when you joined us, you were barely an adult yourself." 

"She was just a kid."

"But not yours. You two have a mother, as I recall it."

"Mason told my mom really didn't know how to protect us. He said my sister rebelled and I left home. I guess I still escape when things get too hard to handle."

"Does this guess come from Mason?"

"No," she protests. "Well, not directly. He might have hinted I had a pattern of behavior before my amnesia. A pattern that involves me hiding."

"We all need to retreat from time to time. Do you still think you hide?"

She doesn't mean to, but sometimes she gets confused. Other times Mason confuses her when she needs to think.

"Maybe." There's no point to lie to Mother Isabel let alone to herself. "Yeah, sometimes."

They stop at the doorway and she looks in, mesmerized by the candles burning brightly inside the church.

"Because sometimes he's too much and you need to take a step back?"

His need to be her everything can be overwhelming. As is the constant effort it takes to match with his Mary, the woman from before. The one Mason loves. 

"How did you-" She sighs. "Yeah, sometimes, but other times he makes me feel so cherished I think my heart might burst."

"That's Mason for you. When he's in, he's all in. Can you handle that?"

Does she have any other choice?

"I can. It's just with Christy, I... I needed a little space."

"You will always have it here, whenever you need it. If you want to talk about Christy or about your mis-" The older woman's eyes tear up before she can continue, and she looks at her with such compassion. "About loss in general."

"Mother Isabel, is everything okay?" 

"Oh, don't mind me. Sometimes when a life is lost too soon, before it has had a chance to... to live - to thrive - it feels like a light has been taken out before its time."

“I know how you feel.”

“Do you?” Mother Isabel searches her eyes with surprising intensity.

“All too well.”

She's surprised her friend feels this strongly about Christy, but it does warm her heart to know she's not alone in her grief. The agony of not remembering is carving her hollow, leaving nothing behind.

Nothing but anger. Not fit to be a mother? She’ll show Mason just how great she could be - except she would need his help to do so.

“Did you remember something?” Mother Isabel looks at her hand.

She’s stroking her stomach, imagining what it would feel like to have a baby in there.

“Oh no, just an argument I had with Mason. He thinks it’s too soon to think about babies. I’m not sure I agree.”

“With your amnesia, maybe it would be better to wait.” Her voice cracks. “Truthfully, you need to remember how you were before. Your past needs to be cleared up before you can make any future plans.”

“I suppose, but unlike with everything else, it’s the one thing I have no doubts. I want a child. Did I want a child back then too?”

“You did.” Mother Isabel turns quickly away to look at the flowers before she continues in a quiet voice. “But he’s not wrong, it is too soon. It’s not easy for him, either. You both need some time to heal.”

“I hate it when you make sense.” 

“That’s why you came here, wasn’t it?” Mother Isabel turns back to her and takes her hand. "Do you want to light some candles for the people you’ve lost?”

"I'd love to."

Outside on the street, Mason leans against his car, waiting for her. Whereas outwardly his conduct appears calm and collected, his eyes reveal the commotion within.

"Was it everything you needed?" he asks, holding the door open for her.

"Mason, don't," she says, stepping in to the car.

"What?" He closes the door with slightly more force than is absolutely necessary before he gets in to the driver's seat.

She knows he masks it as an innocent question, but it's not. She can hear the hurt and jealousness in his voice. Over a church of all places. 

"Oh, nothing. It was nice. Illuminating."

"Illuminating, huh?" He gives her a sharp look. "You lit up a lot of candles?"

"Only one." Her voice trembles. "For Christy."

"Mary, I'm sorry if that came off as glib. I didn't mean to, I was just worried." He reaches for her hand.

"I know you were, Mason, don't worry about it." She squeezes his.

"But it helped?"

"Yeah, I think it did. It felt good to talk to Mother Isabel."

"You know you can always talk to me, right?"

"Of course, Mason." 

"Did you talk about anything else than Christy?" he asks cautiously.

"Not really." 

She doesn't think he would appreciate hearing they talked about him, too, or about their argument. Not when there's already this strange tension between the two most important people in her life.

"About Christy..." he hesitates. "Her ashes were sent to me, to us. If you want to bury her here."

After the brief lull in the church, she's unprepared for the wave of anguish that washes over her. For a moment, she can't see past the endless grief that's painted on the bleak canvas of her mind. It's hopeless.

"I see." She manages.

"Do you need to think about it?"

"I do." 

She wants to say more to prove she's okay, but she can't. She's not. He accepts her silence but keeps glancing at her when he drives them back to home.

At home, he opens the car door for her. She steps out but her legs refuse to carry and she stumbles against the car door. He's quick to catch her and hoists her to his arms. She relaxes and leans her head against his shoulder. 

She looks at him when he carries her inside their home, into their bedroom: "Thank you, Mason, I don’t know what I would do without you."

They must be the magic words because his expression softens immediately and he tightens his hold instead of letting her go. 

"I'm always here for you," he vows, taking her to their bedroom. "Whenever you need me."

Safe in his arms, inside a place where she can feel secure, she can finally let herself feel the vastness of her loss. Christy is gone. She breaks down in his arms when the finality of her loss crashes down on her. 

She can finally cry.  
  


* * *

They sit on the bed where he holds her silently, and she allows her eyes to close for a moment. She lets herself slip to something akin to a dream - except this one feels more lucid than her other ones.

She’s in the Capwell mansion. Her pulse racing, she's in a desperate hurry to get somewhere. Where? Where is she going? 

She enters a room and sees a blond woman leaping out of a window. How odd. The frail body of C.C. lies on a bed, hooked into a machine that does his breathing for him. The machine isn't working properly. The siren blares so piercingly she can hardly think.

She can't think, she has to react, she has to save him. 

She moves on auto-pilot, doing what she's trained to do. It works, she saves him.

Before she can say anything, Mason hugs her.

When she opens her eyes reluctantly, she still feels his arms around her. He's watching over her, guarding her sleep. Her half-sleep. Trance. Something. She's not even sure if she's in the present. Maybe she isn't. Maybe this was from before.

"Mason?" She needs to tether herself to something solid.

"Yes, Mary?" He pulls her closer.

Yeah, he's solid. She's in the present.

"I think I remember something." 

"Are you sure? It looked like you had a bad dream." He frowns slightly, while rubbing her back.

She can't tell if it's a dream or a memory. It feels like a memory, but she can't trust her feelings.

"If this is a dream, it's the first dream I can remember, unlike all the others I've had since my accident. That's something, right?" 

"It might be, but it might not. I'd hate to see you get your hopes up over something that may very well be just that, a dream. Something your mind made up."

"I saw your dad."

"That settles it, you definitely had a nightmare." He chuckles before he kisses her temple.

"Mason, do be serious."

She needs him to take her seriously when she can't trust her own mind.

"Okay, for arguments sake, let's say you remembered my father. What happened?"

"I think a blonde lady tried to kill him when he was in a coma."

"Mary, you do understand how outlandish that sounds, right?" he asks, his voice uneven.

He smiles to her reassuringly, but she doesn't smile back. She can't deal with him when he doesn't believe her. 

"Are you saying it didn't happen? I know I tried to save him. I can still hear the siren ringing in my ears."

"You're right, you did nurse him back to health. You did save his life. But I'm saying you have an overactive imagination. Your mind wanted to make something extraordinary out of the ordinary. Memory is a funny thing that way." 

He lifts her chin and plants a quick kiss on her lips.

"But it wasn't like that. It felt like-" she starts.

"It felt like a dream because it was one, wasn't it? A bad dream."

He kisses her again, deeper.

"I suppose, but..." 

She can't deny or confirm it, but the sounds and images are now committed to her memory. Nevertheless, she can't deny the wisdom of his words. It's completely possible her misfiring memory aims at all the wrong places when the plain truth is right in front of her face. 

She's a nurse, she saves lives, that's her job.

"You know I'm right," he says with an odd smile.

"Most likely." She sighs and reluctantly lets go of her peculiar hallucination.

"Maybe it's how your mind's deals with the trauma. You know we still need to talk where to bury or scatter Christy's ashes."

Why not punch her in the gut while he's at it? 

"You're right, we do." She wants to cry.

"Have you thought about it?"

"I don't think she'd be happy in a churchyard,” she says after a while. “I think the ocean might be the best place for her. Let her be free."

"I think you're right. Just say when you want to go and I'll arrange it."

In the end it's only the two of them on the beach who send Christy off. According to Mason, her mother is unable to attend. She doesn’t remember her mother, but she knows this disappointment in her bones. She knows to not expect anything from her mother, not even to come to her own daughter’s funeral. With Mason’s hostile relationship with his family, none of the Capwells are there either. Just him. 

He holds her tightly when she stares at the ocean, her tears flowing freely when it takes Christy's ashes away. Even with Mason by her side, she feels acutely alone, cut off from the rest of the world. She wants to mourn for her sister in peace, but the earlier dream plays like a movie in front of her eyes, disturbing her thoughts. She can’t ask him again, because he would probably send her to a psychiatrist. Maybe he should.

_**What if I’m losing my mind?** _

* * *

She doesn’t want to wake up. She should. She opens her eyes to his smiling face beside her.

"Have I told you how much I love you?"

"Not since yesterday." She grins, sleepy.

He's ever so considerate after Christy but she worries one of these days he'll demand a response in kind. His "I love yous" come so easily to him, like breathing. Even when he murmurs them half-conscious right before he falls asleep and pulls her in, tight. She's not sure if he's aware of it, or if it's instinct.

She doesn’t share the same instinct to openly declare her every emotion, but she does feel guilty every time she sees the hope in his face. The hope that maybe today is the day his wife says that she loves him. She loves to be with him. She loves how he makes her feel. She loves how he feels when they make love. That's something, right? But she doesn't remember him. She needs her memory back before she can say what he so desperately needs to hear. 

Another day, another let down. 

She can't bear to see the rejected expression on his face, so she kisses him. She can show what he means to her, even if the words get stuck in her throat. His eyes light up, the disappointment she must be for him wiped away. She can't get over the effect her touch has over him, how he calms down every time she's close to him. Like he needs a physical reminder she's still there and isn't going anywhere.

His hand glides down her waist and pulls her closer. His touch makes her light-headed and scatters her thoughts. She needs to close her eyes just to concentrate.

For a flash of a moment, she's somewhere else, yelling at Mason.

_"It's the only way you know. Deception."_

She opens her eyes and he's right there in front of her. She tries to organize her thoughts, but the kiss disrupts her train of thought and his fingers aren't helping. It hard for her to think straight when he caresses her. 

The only way that Mason knows is deception? What deception? 

"Mason, stop, I think-"

"You think too much," he murmurs against her lips, nibbling the lower one.

"This is serious, I mean..." Her neck arches back when his lips start to trace it.

When his mouth moves below her collarbone, she has to stop him. He looks up, nonplussed.

"I think I remembered something. For real, this time." 

"Mmm, I'm sure you did." 

His thumb barely touches her nipple but it reacts immediately to his touch. He should stop doing that when she's trying to have a conversation with him, this is serious for her. 

"Mason, I need..."

His fingers draw circles around the areola, but his eyes challenge her to continue.

"Go on, tell me what you need," he whispers.

She can’t be distracted, she needs to think. 

The only way Mason knows-

Her brain stops when he replaces his hand with his tongue, and a moan escapes her lips before she can stop it. 

Damn him. She responds to him faster than a marionette to its master. She can't remember what she needs to ask. He shouldn’t-

He takes the nipple into his mouth. Her fingers grab his hair when his teeth lightly scrape the sensitive bud. 

Oh, yes he should.

She lets him get away with it and lets herself forget. Instead of trying to think, she surrenders to the growing want inside of her.

She loosens her grip and runs her fingers slowly through his hair. He looks up, brazenly. The naked desire in his eyes sets a rush of longing in her as well. She pulls him up for a kiss. With him on top of her, she gets a very clear idea why he doesn't take her seriously. His fixation should worry her, but her body doesn't seem to agree with any of her concerns, betraying her with equally urgent desire for him. She comes alive when he touches her, her body adoring his every touch and move. When his mouth traces the curves of her body and gradually moves lower, her desire grows, becoming more of a need than a conscious thought. 

Suddenly self-conscious, she doesn’t know what to do with herself when she understands where he’s heading. Her breathing becomes shallow and shaky when he moves past down her belly button, trailing little kisses along the way before he reaches his destination. 

Is he going to…?

Heat rushing to her face, she gasps in shock and pleasure when he presses his tongue against her center. Slightly embarrassed, she can’t help but to tense up. This is new to her, maybe. Not that she would remember. 

“Relax… let your mind go,” he hums against her.

She wants to. She wants to _not_ think, but-

Oh.

He flicks his tongue over her sweet spot and suckles it. Surprised by the sudden surge of pleasure, her back arches and her hips twitch before she can help it. He grabs her thighs to hold her still, while she tries to keep them from shaking. She can only manage gasps and moans as he sucks and licks her core that’s growing slicker by the minute. 

When he slides a finger inside of her, it helps her overcome the last remains of her shyness. It’s hard to be self-conscious about anything when her last conscious thought slips away from her grasp. 

He thrusts it in and out and she can feel herself already pulsing around it, greedily. His thumb rubs her nub. Whimpering helplessly against the pleasure, she forgets everything but him, engulfed in the sensation he gives her. Every nerve on her body is awaken, alive, as she lets go. He looks up, unabashed, and watches as the pleasure ripples through her. So pleased with himself.

Afterwards, resting her head on his chest, she listens to his heartbeat slowing down. She's so content in his arms, not wanting to move, not wanting to think - even though she should most definitely think. About something. But she'll think about something later.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something in her recognizes this Mason. The man who gets exactly what he needs, by any means necessary.

_"It's the only way you know. Deception."_

She hears her own words again, and this time remembers her blinding anger towards Mason. This is definitely not a dream. Her eyes are open, she's wide awake. This is a memory, she knows it. 

It unnerves her to think he'd ever knowingly deceive her, even in the past. Mason is her bedrock, her anchor, the one who keeps her tethered to reality. The one that keeps her sane and guards her memories. She can't live her life assuming he'd lie to her. It's just a fragment of a memory from a past argument, nothing more. She needs to trust him. Now, outside of his bed and in her right mind, she hesitates. She doesn't know how to ask present Mason about his past deception. Her past is barely more than fragments of sounds and images, which most of the time get tangled amongst the cobwebs in her mind.

Would he deceive her? She bites her lip, unsure of herself, unsure of him. 

"Is everything alright, Mary?" he asks softly when he sees her.

Mason can always see through her emotions with alarming clarity. There's not much she can hide from him.

"Yes," she lies, nevertheless.

The cowardly part of her doesn't want to have this conversation just yet when the truth of it is still locked inside her. She can't blame him over a memory and expect him to admit it’s true. She doesn't want to accuse him of anything she can't fully remember, but a doubt lingers at the back of her mind.

The cowardly part of her doesn't trust herself with him. 

"Do you want to talk about it? The memory you thought you had earlier?" 

"No, it was nothing important." She smiles tightly, her words clipped.

He brushes his hand against hers, but she takes a step back. She can't give him a chance to touch or kiss her. She's out of her depth when he's too close. He has too much influence over her. It's that invisible string he pulls she can't sever. 

"You'd tell me if it was, right?" He tilts his head when his eyes scan hers, as if he is assessing her anew.

"Of course, Mason." She tries to smile away her cool reaction.

"What did you remember?" The softness is suddenly gone from his voice, replaced with austerity she's not used to.

She's so used to his gentle side that the sudden shift in his tone makes her anxious. He doesn't normally use his lawyer tone with her. It reminds her how she thinks she knows him but doesn't. Not really. She can't see what happens behind his eyes when he's like this.

Her throat tightens. She struggles to get the words out: "Just a conversation we had."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

No, not really, but she knows he won't let this drop until she answers.

" _It's the only way you know. Deception_ ," she repeats the memory, looking into his eyes, curious to see his reaction.

A flicker of pain distorts his face for a second, followed by a surge of anger.

"What do you know about deception?" He spits out the word like a bad taste.

He walks around the living room like a caged thing, his movements swift and precise, until he stops in front of her. His contained fury alarms her more than his previous outbursts of anger. She can't help a gasp that escapes her when he leans closer, controlled and quiet.

"I asked you a question, Mary. What do you remember?"

He may word it as a question, but it's an order for her to comply like she's giving a testimony. Why does this feel so familiar? His overblown reaction squashes any doubt and fills her with certainty. 

"That you deceived me to get what you want," she replies defiantly, even when she can't remember the actual lie.

As soon as the words come out of her mouth, she knows they're true. 

"Do you remember what it was about? Do you remember how you forgave me?" he demands.

She doesn't trust her voice to carry when the word 'no' dies in her mouth.

"Because you did, you forgave me." He pushes on, his voice shaking.

She wants to argue about the fact, but no sound comes out of her mouth. No memory of it comes to her mind. She doesn't know the specifics, so her best tactic is to let him tell her everything.

"After you deceived me." She looks at him like he's a stranger.

"It was the only way I could get you to tell me what I needed to know." 

Something in her recognizes this Mason. The man who gets exactly what he needs, by any means necessary.

"No, it was the only way you knew." She inhales. "Deception." She repeats the loop that's now stuck in her brain, reminding her of the previous Mason.

She still doesn't have the context for it, but she understands it's meaningful for their relationship.

"I can't believe we're having this argument again."

"We wouldn't if you were honest with me." 

"But I was! I mean, I am... Besides, our fight wasn't about something I didn't already know, you just confirmed my suspicions."

Suspicions about what? Why won't he just spill it out? If she asks, he would know she still doesn't have a clue what the actual memory is about. She needs to stay focused.

"So you used me to get what you want."

"We dealt with this already, you forgave me, we moved on."

"Except now I'm stuck with amnesia and my mind is like a puzzle with all the central pieces missing. I have no control over what I remember and what I don't. I didn't choose to remember this." Her anger wells up.

He starts to say something but stops.

"Mason, I know this is a lot to ask, but you can't be angry with me when I remember something. I need to trust you with them. Why are you so angry with me?"

"I'm not." He looks down at the floor, at least having the good sense to look ashamed.

"Oh, really?” 

"I... might have overreacted to some old wounds. You were so angry with me back then that I was sure I would lose you, and I-" He hesitates. "I can't bear it if you hate me."

"I don't hate you, I could never hate you." She brushes her hand against his.

"I never had anyone until you came along," he murmurs, mollified by her touch.

She holds her breath because she doesn't want him to stop talking. He rarely reveals anything about himself. His whole life seems to revolve around her and how she feels. Understandable when his wife is an amnesiac, but she doesn't want to be his patient, she wants to be his wife. Share the things husbands and wives share between each other.

"That sounds awfully sad."

"I guess, but I didn't know how to miss it back then. Before you," he reminisces, his eyes wide and glassy.

She can't get over how broken he sounds. How lonely. 

"I'm here for you, if you let me. You can tell me things, even the bad things. I won’t break."

"So you keep telling me." He smiles.

"What was it that made me forgive you?"

"Honesty." 

His voice is thick with more emotion than such a small word is supposed to carry. Yet he looks like he's about to crack under its weight. 

"Sounds good to me."

"It does, doesn't it?" he says with a trace of bitterness in his voice. 

She can sense the small window into his mind closing up again, leaving the air heavy with things unsaid. 

"Mason-"

"I don't see the point rehashing these memories. Why can't we just forget and start anew? I could make you love me again, if you'd let me."

She already does.

Of course she loves him. How simple. She loves Mason and there's absolutely nothing she can do about it. Why is it so hard for her to tell him? Why can she trust her life with him, but not her heart? 

"It would be just you and me," he continues, oblivious to her feelings. "Against the rest of the world."

"Why do we have to be against anybody?"

"I... well, old habits, I suppose. We had to fight for so long to be together that I forget there's nobody between us anymore. Not my dad, not the church, not M-" His voice stops. "Nobody."

She'd love nothing more than to live in their own little world Mason built, if not for the shadows constantly nudging at the corners of her mind. Something dark is coming her way.

"Just me and my forgetful mind." 

"Your forgetful mind could be a blessing in disguise, if you'd let it. It doesn't have to come between us." 

“This can’t go on, I can’t carry on like this.”

“We can make it go on.”

_He's not going to help her to remember._

It’s so clear now when she lets herself think it. Does he even understand what he’s saying, or what it would mean to her? She would be dependent on him for the rest of her life. He wants her to forget when she wants to know. No, she needs to. She needs facts and reality. The dream isn't enough anymore, if it's going to turn into a nightmare when she least expects it. 

She's going to need outside help, but he won't like it. 

"I'm going to need help."

"That's what I'm saying, let me help you."

"Professional help."

"Why can't you see it's better this way? All the pain from before is gone and forgotten."

"Forgotten but not gone. It’s still here, beneath the surface. I can feel it.” She taps her temple. “Mason, you have to understand it’s for the best if I get outside help.”

As brilliant as he is, even Mason can’t play doctor for her.

“No, I don’t.”

Now he’s just being petty.

“What are you going to do, lock me inside with you and throw away the key?” she jokes.

“Would it help?” He’s not laughing.

“This is pointless, I’m calling him.”

“Him?” His eyes narrow.

“Dr. Nasch.” She takes out his calling card from her bag.

“He gave you his number? When?” 

“When I was released from the hospital.”

“Behind my back?”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine why he’d do such a thing,” she says wryly, “considering how well you two liked each other.”

“I knew it. If you thought I haven’t sensed you pulling away from me… Is he’s the reason?” He steps closer.

Getting help for her amnesia isn’t the same as pulling away, he has to see that.

“Of course not, he’s somebody who can help me.”

“As opposed to me?”

“The whole world is not against us, nobody is opposing anybody. You’ve been a huge help, but you’re too close to this. I need someone objective.”

“You think he’s objective? I saw the way he looked at you, how he touched you every chance he got. If he wasn’t the best in his field, I would have replaced him. Can’t you see how he’s trying to drive a wedge between us?” He looks at her intently.

Is he completely losing it? He’s jealous over Dr. Nasch?

“Mason, what on earth are you implying? How he touched me? He’s my doctor and doctors touch their patients. It’s a part of their job.”

“You’re seriously telling me you didn’t see how besotted the man was with you? He was obsessed with your case, ordering me to tell you-” he pauses abruptly.

“Tell me what?”

“Something that wasn’t his business. You’re _my_ wife, mine. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” 

“Not even my doctor? I mean, if it was medical advice…”

“It wasn’t. He was shoving his nose into our private business, he was overstepping his boundaries because he had a thing for you. I put a stop to that.”

“Clearly you succeeded because he was nothing but polite and professional with me. Besides, even if he was attracted to me, what difference would it make? You know I could never be with another man!”

“Do I?”

“You can’t be serious. We’re married, you know I would never cheat.”

“Do I?” His mouth twists.

“You’re being ridiculous, I have never cheated in my life.”

“How would you know? You don’t remember what you did.” He watches her, studying her.

“Mason! What are you saying, are you implying I cheated on you?”

She would remember something like that, she’s sure of it. He’s her whole world, she can’t imagine ever cheating on Mason. She knows what her marriage means to her, with or without her memories. 

Her outburst does seem to knock some sense into him, because his next words are much calmer and quieter.

“No.” A cloud passes over his expression. “You never cheated _on_ me.”

At the back of her mind, she senses something peculiar in his tone, something duplicitous in his words, reminding her of his past deception. She can’t trust him to be straight with her when he has an agenda. He would twist her words into pretzels to win an argument. She has to appeal to his good sense, if he has any left. 

“And I wouldn’t. Just because I can’t remember my vows to you right now, doesn’t mean I don’t take them seriously. I promised myself to you in front of church and congregation, didn’t I?”

He closes his eyes.

“You did promise yourself to me.” He breathes. “You did choose me.” 

If only she could name what’s bothering her, like a warning trying to make itself known. Mason’s reaction is completely irrational and over the top. There’s being overprotective and then there’s being obsessive. He’s unraveling but she doesn’t understand why. Only he can remember the ghosts from their past, and he’s the only one fighting them. Only he can remember his deception. 

She can’t ask for his help, she can’t rely on him when he’s like this. She can’t trust him.

“Trust that, then. Do you trust me?” She keeps her voice as steady as possible.

His silence is all the answer she needs, telling her what she already knows. It’s clear what she has to do.

**_He’s not going to like it, but he has left me no other choice. He lied to me._ **


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He makes his way into her mind like he belongs there. He wins, she loses - again.

They sit in front of the doctor's office, neither one speaking. 

"Mason, I think I should go in alone."

"Why is that? Is there something you can't say in front of me?" He gives her a pointed look.

There's plenty, but she can't tell him that.

"I'd feel more comfortable-"

"Without me?" he asks angrily, readying himself for an argument.

If he wants to pick a fight, he can have it for all she cares. (Unfortunately, she cares a lot.)

"As a matter of fact, Mason, yes. Knowing how you feel about him, it’s for the best."

"Knowing how he feels about you, I don’t think so.”

“Knowing how _I_ don’t feel anything for him beyond gratitude, this is pointless. I’m going.”

“After everything-"

"Yes, after everything. I need to remember, you need me to forget."

"That's not true! I just... I'm only thinking what's best for you."

"Well, so am I, and this is what's best for me. Surely you understand?"

The sullen look on his face tells her he surely doesn't. She feels his eyes upon her, angry and troubled when she walks in the doctor's office - but he doesn't stop her from going alone. No matter how much it irks him, he lets her get her way. That's something.

“Mary, how good to see you. Since this isn’t your regular check-up, I assume you needed to discuss something else?” Dr. Nasch smiles warmly.

She tries to look any signs of attraction but all she can see is his kind, sympathetic face. He cares for her as a doctor would care for a patient, nothing more. Mason is being jealous over nothing.

“Yes, although I wouldn’t mind hearing some good news. Am I getting any better?” 

“Your scans do show steady improvement.”

“You would tell me if there was a possibility I won’t get better, right?”

“Mary, that has never been the issue. It’s a question of when, not if. But I can’t say how long it will take, people’s healing processes vary. The massive trauma you went through means it might take considerably longer with you.”

But Mason…

Right. She already knows this about her husband: he’ll use the truth in a way that will best serve him, in a way that makes her doubt herself. That’s why she’s here talking to Dr. Nasch.

“That's good to hear.”

“Have you found your writing to help you?”

“Yes, I think it has sparked up some interesting memories.”

Also, her notebook doesn’t make her think she’s losing it, no matter how outlandish some of her thoughts are. It doesn’t question her judgement or make her feel unsure about her memories, not like Mason who clearly can't help himself. When she tries to point it out, it ends up in an argument. He lets himself to be angry with her more often these days. The petty side of her welcomes it because at least his reaction is honest.

“You think or you know?”

“I can’t be sure.” She glances at him, worried. “I’m not sure if they’re real.”

Dr. Nasch looks at her sympathetically, putting two and two together. He understands who it is that doubts her.

“They very well might be, there’s no telling what might trigger an association. What are they like?”

“Bits and pieces of conversations. Flashes. Feelings. Nothing solid to build a life on.”

Nothing but Mason.

“Tell me about them.”

She's not sure Dr. Nasch believes her jumbled memories either, but he listens to her patiently. He gives her enough space to try to figure things out. That means the world to her, so she lets it all out. She talks about all the pieces of the puzzle she doesn't quite know how to put together, and about the pieces about to connect, if only she can put them in the right context. 

It helps. It helps that he doesn't question or criticize her attempts but instead, encourages her to go on. He is very sympathetic to her plight, and much more open with her opposed to when Mason is in the room with them. Her husband seems to have an antagonistic relationship with every important person in her life.

"Do you find it difficult to discuss these things with Mr. Capwell?"

“Do you?” She observes him. “You gave me your calling card for a reason, didn’t you? You urged me to contact you, to talk about things I couldn’t talk to my husband. You knew I’d accept your offer one day.”

“Yes, well, your… er, Mr. Capwell has been somewhat opinionated about the best way to treat your case. And the Capwells wield a lot of influence over this hospital with their generous donations, which is why I can’t always say what _needs_ to be said.”

Mason, opinionated? She struggles to keep her face neutral, but can’t argue with her doctor’s assessment. Her husband does have a domineering presence any room he is in. His last name being Capwell does carry weight around this hospital, meaning Mason will get whatever Mason wants. 

“What needs to be said?” She tilts her head, remembering Mason’s outburst over Dr. Nasch.

Why would the doctor overstep his boundaries into their private life? If he is attracted to her, he’s hiding it really well. She doesn’t see what Mason sees, but her husband does have an amazing ability to make mountains out of molehills, especially when he gets possessive over her. She needs to let this go, otherwise she’ll be like Mason, suspicious over everyone. She can’t live her life like that.

Dr. Nasch speaks carefully, like there's some other meaning hiding behind the words that come out of his mouth. Like he’s trying to give her a missing piece of the puzzle without spelling it out.

“What I’m saying, poorly, that money and influence can stifle an honest conversation,” the doctor admits sheepishly, “when it would be the best for your health to have an open discussion to help you to understand who you really are. It’s important you have all the facts about your situation. As your doctor, I wanted to offer you an opportunity to speak freely about any doubts and concerns you might have. Even if they’re about your, uh, marriage.”

"He doesn’t always believe me when I think I remember things. That can be difficult,” she lets out.

“Of course it would be. Why do you think he does that?” he gently encourages her to continue.

Dr. Nasch makes it sound like Mason does it on purpose. Does he? She assumes he’s not even fully aware of it, that it’s more of a compulsion than a strategy. What if Mason doubts her to purposefully sabotage her efforts?

“Sometimes I think he just wants to protect me from the past pain. I can't fault him for that, but..." She wants to defend Mason.

"You need to remember, as any reasonable person would. There can be such a thing as being overly protective.” 

Her doctor is starting to sound like Mother Isabel, but she can’t fault them for having the same thoughts as she has. When it’s the reason she’s talking to him in the first place.

“What should I do?”

"Just talking about your memories can help you to clarify what's on your mind, as long as you feel comfortable enough to do so."

That rules out talking to Mason, then.

“I can see that now, talking to you has been a huge help.”

“Good, I’m glad. Since your writing has been so beneficial to your recovery, I suggest you keep at it.” He nods approvingly. “Know who you are." 

"That's your advice for an amnesiac? How am I supposed to know myself if I can’t remember myself?" 

“You don't need your memories to know how you feel. Trust your own judgement and emotions. Don’t let anyone else tell you how you should feel.” 

“Like my husband?”

“Like him, for example.” He frowns.

“That’s all?”

“That’s all for now - but remember, whenever you need a sympathetic ear, you know where to find one."

Filled with newfound confidence, she thanks him as she steps outside his office with a smile on her face, only to find Mason sulking outside the office. 

“Was he everything you needed?”

“Oh, absolutely, even more than I could have ever dreamed of,” she responds sarcastically, the smile dying on her lips.

She hates to see him that way but doesn't know how to fix it. She’s only trying to get better and can’t understand why he is so angry about it. His jealousy over Dr. Nasch is so ridiculous she can’t take it seriously. 

She doesn't think she can kiss this one better, and with his tense mood, she doesn't feel like kissing him at all. During their drive home, the whole space between them is filled with some kind of tension she can't name, but it feels familiar enough. Suddenly she doesn't want to be there with him. She doesn’t want to be anywhere with him.

It's a first time for a good long time that they don't make love, and she's more lost than ever. Despite her anger, Mason is so essential to her happiness that without him, she floating adrift in a cold, black sea. She needs to make it right between them but doesn't know how. She can’t curl up to him like she normally does. As much as she needs him to wrap his arms around her, she refuses to beg him. To do so would be to admit defeat, to admit she’s sorry. She can’t be sorry for trying to get better. So they lay side by side without touching, the distance between them far greater than the inches separating them. 

Her distance from him does give her plenty to write about. She writes down her feelings, her possible memories, everything. All the things Mason doesn't want to talk about. His anger. Her fear of everything, even herself. How the shadows that envelope her make it impossible for her to see her past. Its poison leaking onto their lives. How she senses that something murky is coming for her from the darkness. Something painful.

**_Why was my wedding day the unhappiest day of my life?_ **

The happiest day of her life shouldn’t fill her with such anguish. Why is it so dreadful to even try to think of that day? But she needs to see, so she keeps writing. Then it hits her.

**_It was in a hospital. We were in a hospital but neither of us was hurt. Why then would we get married there?_ **

Suddenly it’s hard to breathe. It burns. 

She’s engulfed in darkness, screams echoing around her. Standing still, surrounded by chaos and smoke, she can’t see a way out of the dark labyrinth with no point of exit. She needs to breathe.

Deep breaths. In and out. In and out.

A shape of something, someone starts to emerge from the darkness. She breathes slowly, letting the calm fill her mind. It’s yet a faceless figure, but if she’ll persist, maybe-

“Mary, what’s going on? I called for you but you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”

Mason’s hand on her shoulder brings her back to the present moment and she opens her eyes. She’s in their kitchen again, but she wants to go back. If only she could conjure up the image again, the image of a…

Man, it’s a man.

“Mason, I think-” She looks up to him, but he’s not looking at her.

“What’s this?” He picks up her notebook before she can stop him.

Her brain comes up empty to his simple question. She wants to hold on to the mystery man from her past, hoping for the memory to resurface, but Mason’s actions force her back to the present.

He starts to read her notebook without asking her permission.

“Mason, that’s mine.” She tries to grab it but he lifts it out of her reach.

“A diary?”

She can't help but to feel embarrassed, like she is doing something she isn't supposed to. It’s ridiculous she should feel so for trying to get better, but he has a glimpse inside her innermost thoughts now. It makes her feel vulnerable in front of him. His mouth is nothing but a hard line and his brow furrows as he reads on. He doesn’t seem to appreciate her notes on his anger, but his reaction is only proving her point. There’s so much anger in him, but he tries to hide away his rage to help her. It doesn't help, nor can he hide it from her.

The simmering tension between them bubbles up to surface with full force. 

"When were you planning on sharing this with me? Or were you?" he demands indignantly. 

"No."

That simple word seems to infuriate him like no other, her steady gaze even more. He makes her feel so small, but she stands her ground. She isn't doing anything wrong.

"You don't trust me, is that it?"

"Mason, be reasonable. They're just thoughts I have, nothing more. I’m only trying to make sense of my life."

"I can't believe you're keeping secrets from me!"

“And I can't believe you're getting angry about this. You have no right! I have the right to my own thoughts," she cries. "You try to control things you have no control over. You can't control me."

She wipes her tears away roughly, furious at herself for being this upset. She tries not to, but she can't help it. 

"Mary..." His voice softens at the sight of her tears.

No. She can't deal with the two Masons right now. She needs one or the other, and at the moment she's so furious with him, she can't have him try to comfort her. How dare he make her feel like this?

"Besides, the notebook was _doctor's orders_ ," she can't fully repress the sarcasm in her voice.

All the warmth vanishes from his voice and he's angry again.

"I knew it, he did this on purpose, he’s turning you against me. You don’t see him like I do.”

“What, madly in love with me? You’re right, I don’t see him like you do. It’s not real, it’s your own jealousy talking.”

“He has clearly made you forget.”

“Forget what? I think quite the opposite, I think I’m starting to remember-”

“He has made you forget who you belong to.” 

“Mason, I can’t let you turn this into something it’s not,” she groans, frustrated. "The notebook was a brilliant idea, can't you see? He gave me something solid to hold on to."

"You can't hold on to me? I'm not enough for you?" 

"Mason, you're everything to me, that's the problem. That's not fair to you."

Or to her, but she doesn't say it out loud. Instead, it lingers between them.

"Won't I get to decide what's fair to me? You're everything to me. You're the only reason anything means anything. You make it worth it." His voice breaks.

The look in his eyes pierces her heart. She’s being unfair, she knows. He is so good to her and she's being horrible.

She knows how much she means to him, and it makes her feel incredibly ungrateful to try to carve her own space away from him. Has he not done everything humanly possible to make her happy? Yes, he has, and yet, she needs a space for herself. She needs a relationship with herself to be happy in her own skin. That's the one thing Mason cannot provide for her. She fears without him, she has nothing, no sense of self. She doesn't know how to make him understand that without hurting his feelings.

Mason pulls her in his arms, trying to soothe her in his usual way. But she is not to be soothed, she's too restless for that. Too angry. She wants to push him away, make him give her the space she needs to breathe freely. She doesn't push, but she won't relax either. She just stands still in his arms like a statue.

She's not ruled by his will. She's not.

He senses her coldness, but evidently doesn't let himself be dissuaded by it. 

"Mary, let me take care of you, let me love you," he whispers against her ear, as his hands languidly caress her body. “Let me be good to you.”

Oh, he most definitely knows how to be good to her. He knows all her tender spots and doesn't hesitate to use her weakness for him against her. He knows exactly how to make her body thaw and yearn for his touch. Her stomach tightens when he pulls her in. With his lips so close to her, she can feel his breath on her skin. 

She can't respond. She needs all her concentration to breathe when her heartbeat quickens and a tremor runs through her body. Curse him.

"I just want things to be right with us, but I don't know how. Please, let me make it right."

It's like he's trying to atone for something. The problem is that he wants to make it right by letting her to forget what she needs to remember. He wants to take her pain away when the right thing would be to face it head on. Talk about it. 

She can't be his damaged wife only he knows how to fix.

"It's not on you to fix me." Her voice is so tiny she's not sure he hears it. 

He does, because he looks at her, tormented: "Isn't it? Had you been on that roof without our argument? Would you be in this condition without me?"

"Mason, how long are you going to torture yourself with these thoughts? You have to stop beating yourself over something I did." She wants to erase the worry away from his face and caresses his cheek. 

"But it wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you too far,” he says in a strangled voice, his eyes pleading with her. “I'll keep you safe from now on, if you let me." 

She shouldn't give in to him now in the middle of their argument, but the way he looks at her and touches her force her to face the reality of the situation. It’s the look in his eyes that is far worse to resist than anything he could do, stirring something within her that's beyond her control. It’s the eyes that see through her. She doesn't have it in her to deny him anything. She can't stop, he can't stop, they can't stop. 

He's the oxygen in her lungs she needs to breathe. He's the drug in her veins that she can't live without, even if it's not always good for her. Even when it's not good for her.

He makes his way into her mind like he belongs there. He wins, she loses - again. 

He gets his answer when her hands move up his chest all the way around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. He kisses her hungrily as her lips part to welcome him in. When he breaks the kiss and reaches her hand she just follows his lead, dazed. 

In the bedroom he turns her around, draws down the zipper of her dress and unhooks her bra. He pushes the fabric aside and pulls the straps down off her shoulders, his fingers hot on her skin. She lets the dress fall on the floor along with her bra. She holds her breath when he removes her panties. A small shiver runs through her body, either from the cold or the slight embarrassment of being stripped bare while he is still fully clothed. 

She stands there, naked and vulnerable in front of him.

It’s another kind of shiver when he lifts her hair aside and starts to kiss the nape of her neck before he brushes his lips against her shoulder. She lets out a moan when his hand cups her breast with one hand, his thumb playing with the nipple. He draws her closer with the other one, and she can feel his hardness through the fabric of his pants. Warmth pulsates between her thighs when the hand wrapped around her waist moves lower. Before he reaches his destination, he stops.

“Mason…” She wants to keep the pleading note out of her voice, but can't.

“Turn around, I want to see you.”

She obliges, but finds it profoundly unfair he remains clothed.

“Do I get to see you?” 

She presses herself against him, the fabric of his suit cool against her skin. Before he can stop her, she loosens his tie and pulls it off. He wraps his fingers around her hands before she gets further.

“In due time. Relax and let me take care of you.”

Always the gentleman.

“I’d find it immensely relaxing to see you.”

A grin flashes on his face and he kisses her palms before letting them go. He holds her gaze when he takes off his clothes until he stands in front of her. Finally, they’re on equal footing. His breathing hitches when she pulls him against her, to feel his skin against hers. She can't help but feel a little bit smug over the effect her body has over him, how for a second, he seems to lose the last of _his_ self-control.

She gasps, shocked, when he grabs her bottom and lifts her up, turning them towards the bed and laying her down on it. He pulls her thighs open and watches her, taking in every inch of her body. She's embarrassingly wet, considering how angry she’s supposed to be with him. But her lingering frustration only intensifies the sensations in her body, every fiber of her being ablaze from his touch when he trails his knuckles down between her thighs.

He understands her treacherous body, how to make it respond immediately, as if it’s not quite under her command anymore.

“Mason, please… I need you, now,” she pleas.

He joins her on to the bed to lie next to her, while his hand find its way over to her mound. But he holds his fingers still, denying her the release she so desires. He wants to see her squirm and she’s too far gone to care how desperate it will make her look. She’ll beg if she has to. She's urgent for him to add more pressure so she puts her hand on top of his, wordlessly begging him to continue. When he won’t budge, she lets go. There's something wolfish about his expression when he sees the devastating effect he has on her, the power he wields over her. The wolf looks like it wants to play with its prey. 

“How much do you need me?” He’s not finished tormenting her just yet.

He lightly circles his fingers around her core, his touch soft as a feather when she needs more pressure.

“Please, Mason, you know how much…” She struggles to get the words out when her breathing becomes erratic.

“Do I? I’m not sure I do.” He stops again. “How much do you need this?”

Entirely at his mercy, she’s racking her brain for the magic words, but can barely think. The slow, sensual agony he’s tormenting her with is driving her mad. What does she have to say to convince him?

“You’re everything to me,” she breathes. 

“Who do you belong to?” He adds a little more pressure.

“Only you, you’re the only one I need, there’s no one else.” The words tumble out of her mouth faster than she can think them.

“That’s my girl…”

That’s it. That’s the thing he needs to hear, because at last, his movements become faster. When he slips his fingers in to her, he watches her as she begins to fall apart against his hand. He's clearly reveling in the moans and gasps escaping her lips. So sure of himself, like he's winning. Which he is.

When her eyes close, he suddenly stops. She wants to cry in frustration.

"Look at me. I want to see you."

He clearly needs to rub her face in it, because the second she opens her eyes he continues, shamelessly reveling in her defeat. The smugness fades soon enough and turns into something akin to reverence when she's nearing the edge, her whole body humming with intense pleasure. Her every conscious thought is focused on his fingers and the sensation between her legs. She doesn’t mean to break their eye contact, but when the wave of pleasure begins to surge up her spine, her neck arches back and her eyes close. She’s lost to where she is, floating, weightless.

That's when he takes away his hand and thrusts himself deep within her, hard, the fullness and the friction driving her over the edge. She opens her eyes and comes apart with shivers running through her body, the warmth spreading all over. She wraps her legs around him, tighter, taking in every inch of him. 

That’s when he loses it. When he moves in her like a man possessed, in that moment her whole world narrows into him, there's nothing else. With his weight on top of her, she's feels protected from the rest. She’s captivated by the entranced look on his face. Their eyes stay locked until their breathing even out. He’s the only one there is. And that’s enough.  
  


* * *

_He professed his love for her, but the way he spoke afterwards made her uneasy. For he knew she too had an extraordinary liking for him, a need to be with him._   
_It was exactly what she was thinking. It was as if none of her thoughts were hidden from him anymore, his words repeating her thoughts aloud. He had made his way into her mind. Now he had an intuition of her every mood as she felt them, but she had no such intuition about him. With his mask on, she wasn't sure when he spoke of the truth, if at all._

_She had been revealed in all her plainness, yet he did not turn away. He kissed her. Her thoughts run away from her, leaving her no choice but to let them go. She sought help from the mirrors around her but to no avail. The elegant lady in them was someone else than before, someone of his kind. Someone who belonged in the great ball-room with him. She felt very keenly that lady wasn't her. It saddened her right to her heart to see how her outward and inward didn't align in this room. Sorrow and trouble were on her when she understood he had not seen her as she was, nor did she know who he was._

_She wanted to retreat, but with the darkness waiting outside, she remained still._

—

It's dark outside when she wakes up. She lies still and soaks up the claustrophobic blackness around her.

She can't shake the disturbing quality of her dream even when she can't remember it. It stays as a shadow entwined with the shame from the previous night, like a nagging presence at the edge of her mind.

She glances at her side where he's fast asleep, his arm on top of her like he owns her - as he does. The weight of his hand now restricts her instead of protects. It reminds her of the power he has over her, how pliant she is in his arms. 

She resents him for pointing out how weak she is for him. She's mad how he uses it against her. She's ashamed of her own weakness but can't help it. 

That's on her, she can’t put that on him.

She shouldn't let herself to get lost in his fantasy of them, of who they're supposed to be. Every time she gives in, nothing is resolved between them. She makes no progress.

She gets out of the bed to search her notebook, only to discover it isn't where it's supposed to be. Mason. Taking it during the night has to be his misguided effort to protect her - or himself. She isn't sure anymore. It's not exactly her secret property, but she doesn't like to share her writing either. It’s hers. Her cheeks burn with shame, even when she knows there's nothing in it to be ashamed of. Only her innermost thoughts and feelings. Memories that might not be memories at all. No big deal.

All her frustration with him returns, more intense this time. The unresolved issues between them from yesterday still separate them today.

"Mary, please come back to bed. Let’s talk about what’s bothering you." 

She hears his voice behind her, trying to sound amiable. But he’s cross, she knows. He hates to wake up her gone. She won't return to their bed because she can't trust talking to be the only thing they would do. 

She turns around and faces him: "Where did you put it?"

"Your diary? It's in my study. I still don't think you need it."

It only helps to strengthen her resolve. It's essential to her.

"You read all of it when I slept?"

"I did. I think I have the right to know what you remember."

The sheer nerve of that man makes her want to shake and stomp her foot, but a childish outburst would make her lose any moral high ground she might possess at the moment.

"No, you don’t. They are my thoughts!"

"If I don't know, how can I help you?”

“You’re not helping me!” 

“You wrote how troubling the darkness can be, I want to help with that."

"But you want to help me forget. You let me live in our safe little bubble where no harm, where no darkness can come to me."

He believes he's helping her, he buys into the illusion. Why wouldn’t he? It is his creation after all.

"Is that so bad? Is it so wrong that I want to protect you?" 

"No, I get it, but the bubble isn't real. Real life can be painful, but at least it's real. I can be Mary again. Mason, I need to remember." 

"But you are Mary, can't you see?"

"No, not really. Because I can't remember her. Me." She's on the verge of tears. "I'm afraid of everything, even my own thoughts, but I don't know why."

"No, don't be afraid." He looks troubled. "You shouldn't be afraid of anything ever again."

"Maybe I wouldn't be if I were able to shed some light on to the darkness."

Her eyes find his, and for the first time, she thinks he might get it. He's on the verge of understanding.

"Mary, I..." He hesitates. “I want to help to shed some light.”

"I'm not even sure if the memories are actual memories or just something my broken brain made up," she admits, exhausted.

She is careful to keep her distance. She doesn't want to give in to tears either, because he would try to console her. Sooner or later she would end up on his bed and she’d be lost in him again.

"Well, I can help you with one of the memories you wrote down," he says, uncertain. "If I may?"

"You may," she says, but folds her arms.

She needs to steel herself against him in case he wants to play his games with her. It would be so easy to be taken in, to believe anything he says.

"You wrote how we danced, with you in a blue dress. You're right, it did happen. I bought that dress for you."

"It did? You did?"

A jolt of happiness surges through her and she quickly unfolds her arms, barely being able to contain herself. She remembers! It's an actual memory unlike the one where she saves Mason's dad - the one she tries to put out of her mind but that keeps popping up. Their dance is only one moment of them together, a flash, but it's something - a happy something. She can hardly see for her small triumph and finds it extremely hard to stay mad at him. 

Joy lits up his eyes as well, seeing how excited she is.

Can she trust him? He can see her hesitation and confirms other memories from her notebook too - the happy, bright ones. Yet he doesn’t mention their wedding. Maybe because it’s not a happy memory for him either. But why would they be so miserable on their wedding day?

She throws all caution in the wind and leans against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck to breathe him in. He’s quick to wrap his arms tightly around her. She prefers this, she hates to be mad at him. She hates being angry, it doesn't feel good. 

Besides, for once he doesn't try to diminish her memories. They're making progress.

"Do you remember anything else?" he talks against her ear without letting her go.

"I remember the chaos," she says more to herself than to him, but his body tightens under her arms.

“Chaos? Do you mean your accident?”

“Was there an explosion on the roof? Because I can remember getting lost in a cloud of smoke.” She snuggles closer for comfort.

"No, Mary, there was no explosion on the roof." His voice sounds uneasy.

Oh?

It's so vivid, the smoke filling up her lungs, the blind panic. She's so sure she's right, but he says she isn't. What a relief. Great, on top of her memory she is also losing her mind. She’s relieved she’s wrong. 

Because she doesn’t want to be right about that kind of pain.

"Do you have any new memories you haven't written down yet?" he asks before he lets go of her.

"No, nothing solid. Feelings, sounds, flashes."

"I see. It's okay, give yourself time, and please, trust me with your memories. I promise I'll believe you from now on. I was wrong, you should write down your thoughts, it's clearly helping you." 

He traces his thumb across her jawline, lifts her chin and kisses her on the lips. She allows her eyes to close and melts into the kiss when his tongue finds hers. It’s the look in his eyes afterwards that makes her feel a little peculiar, the lupine glint he can’t quite hide.

It’s okay, they’re okay. He knows now he can’t lie to her anymore, he wouldn’t. Not after reading her notebook. He knows how much she needs to know the truth. She’s in control now, she can see right through him. It’s okay to follow him back to bed, and talk some more what’s bothering her.

Okay, so, maybe they won’t talk. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shadow is taking form, and yet she does not know how to name it. She can sense her little haven with Mason collapsing on her, but she can't understand why.

_She felt his dark eyes upon her as she stepped away from him towards the mirrors. It was essential to her to find her way out. She knew there was an outside but not a way to get there. No door would give her the deliverance she so yearned for, but she hadn't tried the mirrors._

_The deceptive images reflected on them disoriented her, but she kept walking closer to one of them. When she touched the mirror, she could see through the glass, darkly, before it turned black, reflecting nothing anymore. All the mirrors around her were bedeviled by the same darkness, as if a slow flow of poison blackened them all, her reflection fading away from each of them._

_She turned back, meeting him face to face. She couldn't name the dark emotion on his masked face but understood the power he had over this room, the power he had over her. It was he who had darkened the mirrors. It was he who had guarded the doorways. It was he who had changed her reflection. Trapped by him and his deception, this bleak persuasion she could not break._

_It was he who had hidden his true form, not her._

—

She’s awake, she knows she is, but she might as well be sleepwalking. She can’t remember her dream, but it colors her mind. She looks around the empty living room where everything looks the same but it's not. She doesn’t know why. She steps into the kitchen where she finds her husband.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?”

"Is there a wedding photo of us?" She blurts out before she can think. But her wedding is the only thing she can think right now.

He nearly chokes on his coffee before he can answer.

"Why do you ask?" He observes her carefully. 

"I want to remember the happiest day of my life. Shouldn't I remember something so important?"

Not the horror show that keeps popping up. When she tries to think about her wedding, all she can remember is crying at the hospital. That doesn't make any sense, she knows how much she loves Mason. 

"Memories don't follow guide lines, they just come at their own pace. Like the memories you told me about."

"I guess. But my mind is sending me into strange places every time I try to think of our wedding."

"Such as?" he asks, his voice tight.

"Hospital." She laughs. "Can you believe it?"

Maybe it's only her it doesn't make sense to. She looks at him, unsure. 

The careful, calculating Mason comes back, the one who adjusts and measures his words with her. She understands it's for her benefit. He has to weigh how much her psyche can carry. If her psyche is sending her to hospitals, maybe it's only a good thing he's careful around her.

He laughs with her, but it rings hollow. 

"No, Mary, we didn't get married in a hospital. We eloped and had a private ceremony on the mountains."

"We did? How romantic!"

She’ll take the mountains over the hospital scene any day. The other wedding is just her mind leaking all over the place, she has to put it out of her mind. She rubs her wedding ring, but it feels cold against her skin.

He gets up and picks a photo album from the shelf. He shows a picture of them posing happily in caftans. She smiles at their unusual wedding attire. The picture is very informal, even the priest is out of the picture - but it feels like them. There are some other photos too where he clearly went crazy with the camera having her pose every which way. 

"I'll never forget it as long as I live," he says reverently.

He obviously doesn't mean it as a remark to her, but she feels a pang of guilt nevertheless. Seeing how much it means to him, how can she not remember it? Why won’t their memories match, why is she still drawn to the hospital? Apart from her recovery after her accident, it shouldn't be a meaningful place to her. 

"We looked very happy."

"We were. We are, aren't we?"

"Yes, Mason, very happy." 

"But? I sense there's a 'but'."

"No buts, but..." She takes a deep breath. "Promise you won't get angry with me?"

"Me, angry? Inconceivable," he grins mischievously.

"Yes, you. But promise?" She laughs.

"Cross my heart and hope to die." He tries to sound serious but fails miserably.

"Oh, shut up, you." She kisses him on the cheek before she continues. "I asked your father to join us for dinner." 

"You did what?"

His expression changes from light to murky faster than she can think. He looks at her, eyes narrowed.

"Mason, please don't get mad."

"I thought I told you I didn't want you to go to him behind my back ever again," he says, voice low.

"But I have never gone behind your back. Everything I’ve done has been right in front of you. He called me on the phone, and I answered. We had a really lovely talk. Mason, please, I want us to be normal, and normal people eat family dinners."

"My father is not normal." Mason refuses to budge. "He hates me."

"So let's give him a chance to change his mind, shall we? Show him who you really are."

There's a sharp look in his eyes before he asks cynically: "And who's that, Mary?"

She flinches because of the coldness in his voice, but presses on: "Someone who loves his wife very much and wants to make her happy?"

He sighs, defeated. He can't fight against her infallible logic.

"Fine, you won. Tonight we shall feast with that insidious ogre," he gripes.

"Mason, that's horrible! You can't say these things to him," she reprimands him, but with laughter bubbling underneath.

"Oh, try and stop me."

"Will this do?" She kisses him on the mouth, managing to quiet him.

"It's a good start, but I demand a kiss over every insult that man hurls at me. We won't be able to leave the bed for a week after the dinner." He presses his forehead against hers.

"Promises, promises." She smiles before she kisses him again.  
  


* * *

_**Why does he hate his father so much?** _

She knows her husband. He says he's fine but she knows he isn't. He's overly solicitous with her to the point it worries her. 

When the doorbell rings, she takes Mason's hand and squeezes it quickly. He rewards her with a smile but it fades instantly when C.C. enters their home. 

"Mason." The older man nods curtly but smiles warmly the second he turns to her. "Mary, how lovely to see you."

"You as well, C.C., welcome to our home. Come, let's eat."

She can't have the two men sitting in the living room together with nothing but a drink in their hands and murder on their minds. She needs to move the evening along as fast as possible, so they eat straight away. Maybe some food will calm them down or at least tire them out. As it is, the tension is palpable, and it makes her want to drink every drop of alcohol in their home to soothe her nerves. Mason seems to pick up on her nervousness, because he keeps filling up her glass. She gives him a grateful glance and he smiles at her. 

"You are looking exceptionally lovely tonight, Mary. And the food is excellent."

"Why, thank you, that's so kind of you to say."

The two of them settle into a pleasant rhythm, talking about everything and anything, with Mason saying barely a word. She can't decide whether to be mad or grateful about it. She leans towards grateful because there's less to apologize for a sullen Mason than a sarcastic one. 

So far, she doesn't owe one single kiss to Mason. Too bad, she loves kissing him. She dares to say the evening is turning out to be an amiable affair with C.C. on his best behavior. She's even brave enough to try to tempt Mason to join the conversation with his dad. Favorite holiday spots should be a subject harmless enough.

"For me it's a contest between the beach and the mountains, but I think in our case, the mountains have to win since we got married there." She turns to her husband. "Mason, has your dad has seen our wedding photos?" 

"What wedding photos? What marriage? You two can’t be married, can you? Not so soon after Mark, not with her still suffering from amnesia." C.C. glares at his son. “Did you drag her to the mountains again, this time to marry you? Mason, that’s wrong! She still doesn’t remember who she is and what she has lost.”

What she lost? And who's Mark? How is he relevant to this conversation in any way?

Mason is as white as a sheet while she struggles to understand C.C.'s questions. Why would Mason not tell his own father? C.C. has nothing against her. And they got married before her amnesia, obviously. C.C. is making no sense.

Something tugs at the back of her mind like a warning, but she can't get a hold of it.

"I don’t understand what my amnesia has to do with our marriage. Nor do I know who Mark is," she mutters, hoping for some backup from Mason.

She hears how Mason curses under his breath and sees how his hand curls up in a fist. She's hesitant to continue because he's livid, but realizes the anger isn't directed at her. It's C.C. who profusely apologizes. Why? He seems especially sorry for bringing up Mark, but that's not her main concern. That name means nothing to her. 

Not a single insult tonight, and yet, she understands whatever happened won't be smoothed over with kisses. Something shifts within her for good, as if she's going mad. She can't shift it back, make it feel right again. A shadow is taking form, and yet she does not know how to name it. She can sense her little haven with Mason collapsing on her, but she can't understand why. 

She's not sure if it's the alcohol or the bizarre turn in their conversation, but when C.C. leaves, it's like she's watching it through a one way mirror, where she is completely removed from the scene unfolding before her eyes.

_You two can’t be married, can you?_

She can't shake C.C.'s words. She can't shake Mason's reaction. 

Mason is saying something but she doesn't understand. It's difficult to make out the words, with his voice muffled. C.C.'s words echo in her ears, and a sense of dread trickles down her spine. Mason knows how important marriage is to her, with or without her memories. He knows her, he would never lie to her about such matter. Would he? No, it's an honest mistake, it has to be. But why would he react so strongly to his father's words and practically throw him out of their home? 

With C.C. gone, Mason cautiously circles around the issue of Mark. The name still doesn't ring any bells with her. 

"Why didn't you tell your father we got married?" she asks instead.

Mason is on a warpath, but she's not sure with whom. With his dark mood palpable, he's completely closed off from her and refuses to look at her.

Something disturbing and disorienting lurks at the back of her mind when she tries to get a hold of it. A terror she can't name. In her strange state of mind images get mixed together, flashes of her wedding ceremony and of the faceless figure. That memory is just out of her reach. 

"Because it was none of his business." 

Is he lying? She can't tell anymore. The openness is gone and now his face seems like a mask, without betraying any of his feelings. His words sound rehearsed and calculated again.

"What happened tonight?" she finally says out loud, still perplexed.

"What do you mean?" 

"Mason, don't play dumb with me! Judging from your reaction to him, C.C. said something he shouldn't have. Was he right?"

"About what?"

"About our marriage, he said we can’t be married." Her voice breaks.

"Mary, don't be ridiculous." He scoffs.

A jolt of fear courses through her veins. His voice sounds forced in her ears, and she doesn't hear a 'no'. He still doesn't face up to her, which makes her even more suspicious. 

"Mason, don't lie to me," she says evenly as she steps in front of him, forcing him to meet her face to face. 

She’s slightly confused by her mental state. She should be drunk but she doesn’t feel like it. Instead of clouding her mind, it’s as if the alcohol is freeing her mind from its usual doubts and insecurities.

She's not crazy. She's not.

In that moment she finds a moment of clarity through all the haze. Not in her memories, but in herself. She's surprised by the sternness in her own voice. He must sense her resolve because he's becoming clearly agitated.

"I didn't lie to you! As far as I'm concerned, we're married in every way that matters. Ever since the mountains, I've thought of you as my wife. That's when you chose me. That was when you became-"

"You don't get to decide on our marriage on your own. What about me? What about the church?"

"You weren't this strict about church before when you were with me," he reminds her with sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"But you said I was a married woman when we slept..." The reality of it crushes over her like a tidal wave. "I was married, but not to you. I cheated on my husband, didn't I? I broke my vows."

She is undone by his lie. She can feel panic rising in her chest with her pulse beating faster than she can bear. Something breaks in her. She should be grateful, she thinks darkly. He only tries to make her past bearable for her. But in the harsh light of truth, everything is unbearable.

She looks down at her hand and touches the ring on her finger. It’s not real, they’re not married.

"You never belonged to him, you were always supposed to be with me. A misunderstanding drove you to his arms. You didn't break anything of value," he insists. 

"Him... as in Mark? This Mark person was my husband?"

"Yes."

"What happened to him?"

"I took care of him." 

"What does that mean?" She panics at his casual tone.

"Remember the case I struggled with? He left the town with his tail between his legs after we won the annulment you applied for. Otherwise I would have sued him for every crime he has ever done. I would have put him in prison for the rest of his life for what he did to you."

"For what exactly?"

"As far as I'm concerned, he drove you on that roof. He's the reason you're in this condition."

"But you said it was your fault."

"The reason you were there clearing your head was because he wouldn't give you the annulment. You wanted to marry me, and his denial was killing you inside. He was there with you when it happened."

"But my accident wasn't his fault?"

"Technically, no, but he's still to blame. He's gone now, out of your life, never to bother you again. You're free-" The word cracks, "to be with me. Have the life we both fought for so long."

It doesn't add up. The pieces of the puzzle won't connect.

"There's still something missing here. If the accident wasn't his fault, why would he agree to leave? What crime did he commit? How did you manage to get the annulment without my presence?"

"Because we had the paperwork drawn before… before everything. I had your signature, it was all set. ” He looks down. “As for why he left? I never knew what went on in his head. My only guess is that he finally felt guilty for something in his life, for ruining yours. Since he agreed to leave, I wouldn't waste my breath on him anymore - and neither should you."

She's fighting a headache, either from the alcohol or just the sheer shock of it all. The moment is too surreal for her. She tries to process everything, but her world is collapsing on her, swallowing her in a dark pit. There's a memory that wants to make itself known, no matter what the price.

She can't think. She needs to be anywhere but here, just to be able to think. She can't rely on Mason to do her thinking for her anymore. Where could she go? Who else could she turn to? His dad? Mother Isabel? They're the only people besides Mason who she can rely on. No, apart from Mason.

"Mary, please say something." There's tightness in his voice.

He looks remorseful but she doesn't buy it. To lie about something as huge as their marriage really shows her who he is. If he can lie about that, what other lies are there?

"Nothing you say is real." 

"I love you,” he insists. “That's the only reality I know."

"Why did you have to lie about our marriage? Couldn't you have done it without that lie?"

Everything feels like a lie now. Her foundation isn't anything but a pile of dust. Even if she is legally in no way bound to Mason, she still feels trapped by him and his deception.

"I thought you would never return to me, but against all odds, you woke up. You were there with me, but… you weren't - you didn’t remember me.” 

“So you lied about who I was?”

“I knew how you’d react if you thought we weren’t married, and I couldn’t take that chance. I could never let you slip away again, so I lied about that to hold you close. I didn’t lie about who you were. I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you."

“That’s what you do, you lie, you go behind my back. As long as you get your way.”

"I couldn't tell everything what had happened to you when you woke up, that might have traumatized you further. You have to believe me I didn't plan to do it, but it felt the simplest thing at the time. Then it just grew and there wasn't an opportunity to tell you later." He pauses to look at her, warily. "I was afraid to tell you later. Would you have lived with me after the hospital, had you known we weren't married?"

"I don't know, but you took that option away from me. You know what marriage means to me. Meant to me. I did cheat, so maybe you thought I didn't care. Maybe I didn't then, I can't remember. But I care now, and it kills me that you lied to me about that, because now I can't trust a word you say."

"If you remembered everything that happened between us, you wouldn't blame me for my actions. You'd agree that you're supposed to be with me." He sounds almost embittered.

He behaves as if she’s out of control. No, she’s just out of his control.

"Maybe so, but we won't know that until I get my memories back. Before that happens, I think it's best that-"

She can see a crack in the mask. 

"No." He interrupts her harshly, understanding where she's going with it. "You will not walk away from me." 

His voice rises to a worrying level and she takes a step back, hesitant to continue their conversation. There's no reasoning with him when he's like that. When she tries to move past him, he steps in front of her. 

"Mason, I think it's best for both of us if I go," she says with an air of confidence she doesn't possess.

"Speak for yourself, Mary. Having you walk away from me has been and always will be the worst thing to happen to me." His voice is laced with bitterness.

"Mason..."

"You think I can let you go? Are you insane?" 

"No, not insane. I don't think I've seen things this clearly since the hospital."

"Mary, please." He tries again, reaching for her hand. "Stay with me, we can work this out. As long as we're together, we can survive."

She yanks her hand back because she worries he'll notice it shaking. She can't show any weakness when he's looking for a way in again.

"I don't think we can, not now." 

"Are you breaking up with me?” His eyes are frantic. “You belong with me."

The feverish urgency in his voice and the desperation in his movements worry her. His temperament concerns her, even amid the turmoil within herself. He's the man raging against the inevitable, and she's the one who has to tell him that.

"For now." Forcing it out pained her. "Until I remember everything, I can't be with you." 

He stares at her, his eyes penetrating her shield. He reaches out to her and pulls her in, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

"Mason-" She squirms.

"Please stay," he murmurs against her ear before his lips move under her earlobe, finding her sensitive spot. 

Her breathing hitches when he uses just a hint of teeth on her neck, but she can't let herself to give in to the pleasure.

“Mason, be reasonable…”

“I can make you stay,” he mumbles against her neck.

So sure of himself, he doesn’t understand the choice of it is hers, not his. She’s in charge of herself. Only she can decide if she'll let herself slip into that oblivion again. 

She won’t lose herself again.

Forcing herself to toughen her heart against him, she ignores the shiver his lips send through her body and pushes against his chest. He won't budge and his grip is unyielding. He won't let her go.

She gasps before she goes rigid. 

She can’t move. 

She can’t breathe. 

Not because he holds her too tightly, but because his hold triggers something in her. She freezes for a second when she loses the hold of what's real. There's a memory of someone she doesn't recognize, of an attack where she's unable to defend herself. She feels the painful grip as if it’s happening again, as if she’s with that other man holding her still. She hears his demands and her own pleads but she can't see his face.

Then she remembers her rape, sharply. Vividly. Painfully. 

"Mary! What's wrong, are you okay?" 

Mason instantly lets go, alarmed by her intense reaction as she's gasping quickly.

She moves blindly with very little awareness where she's going. She stumbles away from him and collapses on the couch, trying to catch her breath, still shaking from the trauma. 

Her fear finally has a name.

"Was I raped? Did Mark rape me?"

Why does it still feel like it's about someone else's life? As if the pain belongs to the Mary Mason is so in love with, not her. 

She was her. _Is_ her.

"God, Mary, I'm so sorry, did I just incite that?" He sounds horrified.

That's a yes, then. Rage flushes over her with full force. She thinks her hate for Steve is bad enough when just thinking about him makes her skin crawl. It's nothing compared to the pure venom she feels now. Mark. She wants to kill him. She sees him now, his cruel face and even crueler actions. 

Mason sits still beside her, desperation radiating from him, but he doesn't dare to touch her. Is he ashamed for keeping Mark a secret? Or does he blame her for the rape and doesn't want to touch her?

She feels filthy. Felt filthy. 

"Do you blame me for it?"

That snaps him out of his daze. He's alert and worried, not angry with her.

"What? Mary, of course not!" he reacts. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. How much I should say. Dr. Nasch said that-"

"Never mind the doctor," she interrupted, harshly. "This is about you and me. And Mark."

"You're right. And... you're right, he did rape you."

The attack begins to resurface in her mind. Every nightmarish moment comes back to her in a tidal wave, but her tether is gone. Her perception of Mason is now distorted, forever. She can't turn to him, she can't count on him anymore. 

Her only line of defense is her mind. Pity she can't trust that, either. Who can she trust? Where can she be safe? 

He repeats he's sorry like it's a prayer. She's in no mood to grant him an absolution.

"I must go," she says in a monotone voice, her movements mechanic as she gets up.

“Don’t go, Mary,” he pleas, with a note of hopelessness in his voice before it breaks. “Stay?”

He doesn't move from the couch or try to coerce her to stay in any way. He probably doesn't dare to push her further after her earlier reaction - who knows what else would spill out. He looks up at her with an air of wilderment when she tenderly caresses his cheek. She looks down at him, with the harrowing fear he might go under, lose himself altogether if she'll let go. Would he survive without her?

But when he tries to take a hold of her hand, she pulls it away. She takes her ring off and offers it to him. When he doesn’t accept it, she puts it on the table. The clink from the metal sounds so final. 

She’s desperate to find her way out. She hesitates at the doorway, her heart bursting with pain. She doesn't want to go further, but she has no choice. All she can hear is deafening silence behind her. Only when she's safely outside the door, can she let her own tears spill over.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nameless horror she hadn't been able to spell out before, now sat right beside her.

_She was in a strange state of mind, engulfed in the mystic terror around her. She thought she was about to die but her pulse was fast. She felt alone in the world, but he was there in front of her._

_He claimed to be whatever her spirit needed. No longer under his influence, she could see a crack in his mask and the wildered man underneath. All from heart-broke, she heard him say. No more bound to him, something broke in her too, she thought darkly._

_Something pulled her at the corner of her eye, like a warning. She saw the black venom trickling down the walls, changing the space from light to murk. Her world collapsing on her, she wanted to flee before the great hall was benighted from wall to wall, but soon made the discovery that she could no longer move at all, nor could she breathe with ease._

_In the expanding emptiness she saw there was still a light. It was a slight, quick spirit sparking within her. A reminder of a sacred horror in her tale. Once the angel-guarded life had been strong within her, like vivifying warmth inside. Once a brilliant vision which would never again return to her. In the harsh light of truth, a memory of what had been, now a wraith, faded away_.

—

In the borderlands of consciousness, her dream weaves its shade on to reality. She can't fully organize the images into words, but she can see them. What is. What was.

She wants to go back and not know. She wanted to forget the deception. It had cut her reality in half and she didn’t know how to put it back together again. Nothing is real or was. 

Lost in the madness that followed from knowing the truth, she realized everything had been a dream, even herself. She wanted to go home to Mason, but it wasn’t that anymore. It was a trap, a lie, an illusion.

She tried to wake up but it wasn't a dream she was in because her eyes were wide open and she was standing. Yet she didn't know how to break the darksome trance. She looked in the mirror, not sure what she was anymore. Not quite right, not quite wrong, stuck somewhere in-between. Alone.

Mary imagined where Mason was, what he did. Was he thinking of her too? 

She looked around in her small, modest room. With sunshine pouring in from the window, the sight of her old home soothed her. With nothing else to her name but the cross on her neck and the plain clothes on her back, she felt more connected to her old self than ever before. The beautiful clothes and jewelry Mason had insisted on buying her felt like they were meant for someone else, like some character in a glamorous masquerade. Someone he wanted her to be.

Who was she? With more memories filling her mind every day, she still didn’t know.

A careless memory of Mason snuck in when she wasn't cautious. A rare one with him unusually happy and carefree, planning how many kids they should have. She had absolutely adored seeing him like that. But she needed to watch out for those kinds of memories, otherwise she would be dreaming about a happy family, too. 

She had to chase away another memory of his lips on her body and ignored the effect it had on her. Longing combined with resentment was not a good mix. Missing him made her question her sanity.

Missing him was like a physical ache.

Her brain didn't want to remember her painful past, but she had to in order to survive. She remembered Christy, finally. Painfully. All her love for her sister, and the very little good it amounted to in Christy’s life. There was no escape from what a failure she had been to her baby sister. Christy had got the brunt of the abuse wherever she had went.

Her big sister had left her to fend for herself when they had been teenagers, and again had let her slip away as adults. Christy had died all alone in the world and that was on her. The only place Mary could pretend to be a good sister was here in the convent.

She immersed herself in her former routine of prayer and meditation, finding solace in the familiar. It didn't take away the pain from her losses, but it kept her from breaking down during the waking hours. The nights were brutal. There was no hiding, no escape from the truth. That’s when she couldn’t pray away the image of how Christy had died, and everything that had been done to her. That’s when she remembered what had been done to herself.

That was when she remembered Mark.

She wanted to forget everything and let herself fall back into the sweet oblivion with Mason. He had let her forget. She wanted to beg him to think, feel and take responsibility for her again. But she didn't have Mason.

What she had was her old safe haven from all the pain of the world. She had been pathetically grateful when Mother Isabel had welcomed her back with open arms. Mary had been thankful how discreet she had been, but was finally ready to talk. She needed to ask about the one thing that had bothered her during her days of amnesia.

"What happened between you and Mason, Mother Isabel? I sensed some tension between you two."

"There has always been tension between us, because he has always seen the church as a rival for your attention. I represent the church to him. Ever since I first met him, he was terrified of losing you to us."

"He was?"

“Can you blame him?” she asked gently.

“I…” She couldn’t.

"But the tension you sensed was probably mostly because I told you about Christy’s rape. When he and I talked on the phone afterwards, he was not happy, and he asked me to not call you again. He didn’t think you were ready for the truth so soon."

She remembered the first phone call Mason wouldn't speak to her about.

"You never told me this."

"I never wanted to cause trouble for you two, seeing how much he loves you and how happy he makes you."

"Past tense, Mother Isabel. I can't remember the last time I've felt worse than now, and that's because of him." Her breathing hitched when she remembered. "Except for what happened with Mark, but that was different. Mason should have told me."

"He wanted to protect you. We all did. I didn't tell you either about... about everything and everyone you forgot. The people you lost."

Mary was surprised how guilty she sounded and tried to soothe her dearest friend.

"Mother Isabel, it wasn't your secret to tell."

"Wasn't it? Why give to me the absolution but not to him?"

"Because you didn't try to hide anything from me. Anything I've asked, you've answered honestly."

"Yes, anything you've asked. But you still don't remember everything, right? There are things you don't remember to ask, _crucial_ things you need to remember." She sounded anxious.

"Right. But at least now I have enough breathing space to figure them out on my own pace without anyone trying to sabotage my progress or imply - purposefully or not - that I'm losing my mind when I remember them. Right?"

Mason’s worst crime was to make her doubt herself.

"Of course, Mary, I wouldn't do that to you."

"Exactly. Which is why you're forgiven and Mason is not. He would do that, he did do that. He didn't simply leave the truth out, he actively lied to me when I confronted him. That's the part I can't forgive him. After everything we've been through, he would still lie to me."

He had shaped her thoughts and rewritten her past to his liking. He had seen how hard she had tried to remember, and yet...

"He can be profoundly stupid when you're involved," Mother Isabel admitted wisely. "But try to remember that even the stupidest of men can love very deeply. His love for you goes to the very core of who he is."

He had tried to cut her off from both Mother Isabel and his dad, making sure she had nowhere left to go but him. His love was the possessive kind.

"He would never sing your praises like that, Mother Isabel. You're wasting your breath," she said dryly.

"Perhaps a waste of breath, sure, but an act of mercy could never be a waste. They don’t say that forgiveness is divine for nothing. I thought I taught you better than that, Mary."

She ducked her head and stayed quiet for a long time.

"Perhaps."

“It’s not even about him, it’s about you. Try to do what he has been unable to do.”

“What’s that?”

“To let go. That pain and anger you’re feeling is hurting you the most, like Mason’s anger is hurting him. He’s still on that roof, holding on to you with all his might, trying to save you. He couldn’t… can’t let go of that hurt. And that’s why he lost you.”

“You can’t expect me to go back to him, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“Oh sweet child, it’s not. I’m only asking you to let the light in again, let yourself love again, for you. Even if he’ll never know that you’re forgiven him. Just… let it go.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. It still hurts too much.”

"I know it does, but maybe let only one little ray of light in. Maybe join to our moment of prayer later? We're praying for the lost souls." She gave her a pointed look. "Even the ones you're angry with."

Fine, maybe one little prayer wouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like he would ever have to know about it.

"I'd love to." She rolled her eyes to imply the opposite, but smiled nevertheless.

"Good girl." Mother Isabel grinned.  
  


* * *

Mary didn't know how long she had been asleep, but she knew someone was in the room before she opened her eyes. Even in the middle of the night in her ill-lit room, she could see the source of her nightmares sitting on the only chair in the room. His mouth twisted into a smile when he saw she was awake. 

Mark.

"How did you get in?" She was too drowsy to be afraid.

"I see you got rid of your watchdog. I meant to come to visit you before, but he wouldn't let me anywhere near you. He has been guarding you ferociously." 

"How did you get in?"

"I climbed over the wall," he stated matter-of-factly.

She would have to insist the church to improve on their security. The walls to the convent apparently managed to keep no man out, not Mason, not Mark. 

"You shouldn't be here."

His smile vanished as abruptly as it had appeared and was replaced with a cold sneer. She sat motionless on her bed, low-humming dread building inside her as her eyes followed his every move. 

What would she do if he refused to leave? She was painfully aware of her vulnerable position.

"I have every right to be here," he insisted.

"You forget we're not married anymore."

"Mason told you?" There was a slight edge to his voice.

"He told me he handled the annulment."

“He twisted my arm, he threatened me, legally it's not-"

“That’s not what the judge thought. Legally we’re not married anymore.”

"Did he tell you he had my medical license revoked? I’m never going to be able to work as a doctor again. All because of you. Because you couldn’t own up to having sex with me.” 

"Shut up, Mark," she muttered. "It's over and you know it."

Her wedding nightmare was so clear now. It hadn’t been between her and Mason, it had been between her and Mark. No wonder she had been full of angst. She had married the wrong man. That man who was now in front of her, still claiming he was in the right. The madness of him, the sheer conceitedness.

"It doesn't have to be. It's not like you and Mason are together anymore." He looked around her small room and smirked. "How horrible was he to make you escape to a convent?"

He had his reasons, she thought involuntarily. Her heart clenched with pain. Mason had tried to be so good to her, but his good intentions were marred by his lie. 

"What's between us is none of your business."

"I knew if I just waited long enough, you would finally see him for what he was. I was right," he continued as if she had said nothing. "You're finally free to be with me."

A bead of sweat trickled down her neck, but she had to remain calm. She didn't remember everything about their past but she remembered the attack. He had raped her. Mark had to be beyond delusional to think she would ever be with him again. 

"I was in a hospital because of you."

"That's the lie Mason told you? I know you have amnesia because of the accident, I saw your hospital record, but..." He paused before he put two and two together. " _Had_ amnesia. You remember me?" 

"Vividly."

"And you remembered Mason, which is why you left him."

"It's not that simple."

"It can be. Everything can be simple now because you're not married to him either."

But she loved him. That was the only simple thing in her mess of a life. No matter how angry she was with Mason, she would always love him.

Her blood run cold when Mark suddenly got up and sat down on the bed next to her. The nameless horror she hadn't been able to spell out before, now sat right beside her. She could smell his aftershave and had to ignore the swirling panic growing in her stomach. She remembered him on top of her, what he had done to her. His closeness made her want to throw up. 

"Pity about the baby." He put his hand on her abdomen.

"What baby?" Her stomach clenched under his touch.

"Our baby." He looked up. "Oh, you don't remember? You and I were going to have a baby before that unfortunate accident on the roof."

She hardly dared to breathe under his crazed glare. He clearly wasn't of sound mind, but she wasn't sure if he was lying. Had she been pregnant with Mark's baby? Had Mason known about her pregnancy? 

She remembered Mason's arms around her, soothing her, but she couldn't place the memory. 

_All you have to know that I'm here now, and that I love you_.

Mason. 

His name was almost a form of prayer to her. She missed the comfort of being enveloped by his warmth, the solace he had provided for her. To cancel out Mark, she tried to remind herself the scent of Mason when she had buried her face against his chest. She remembered how listening to his breathing had calmed her down before. She closed her eyes and imagined herself wrapped in his arms, matching her breathing with Mason's. He had held her close and she had been safe.

"Well, as they say, when at first you don't succeed..." Mark said casually. "I think we should try for another baby." 

She opened her eyes. His insane smile was back, hardened to a rigid mask. She should play along with him, believe him, but she was afraid of what to answer. She didn't know how to speak sense to her insane ex who had lost his grip on reality. With her own identity still less than solid, how could she make him get real on anything?

Had Mark always been this damaged? Why hadn't she seen this side of him before she had married him?

"I think it might be too soon for that. The accident was rather severe."

"I guess you're right." He smoothed her hair. "But it's the trying part that's always fun."

She swallowed hard, trying to push down the sob threatening to come out. Mark's idea of fun still gave her nightmares. Every muscle in her body stiffened when his hand slid down her back. She could feel his breath against her cheek.

"Mark, I don't think-"She heard the hysteria rising in her own voice and had to stop.

"Don't you think so too?" There was something dangerous in his voice. 

She felt weak with dread as Mark kept dragging her under. She wasn't prepared to handle this level of unstable intensity. As overwhelmed and lost she had been with Mason at times, not once had she feared for her safety. Mason would have never harmed her.

She missed him so much she could barely think straight. There was no phone in her room, no escape. No Mason. 

She crossed her hands, possibly to keep them from shaking, or possibly to send a prayer to anyone listening.

"Mark, I really don't feel all that well."

"Are you sure we're not married? You sure sound a lot like my wife."

"That's not fair. Especially when it was you-" 

She let out a choked gasp when he roughly grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. 

"When I was what?" he hissed. "And when have you ever been fair to me?"

"I tried, I honestly did. We weren't meant to be married, you and I."

"But we were," he insisted before forcibly kissing her.

He had to punish her for the crime of not loving him back. For loving someone else. 

If she remained unresponsive, would he stop? She forced herself to stay motionless.

"You want it, like you did the last time," he whispered against her lips, preying on her mind. "You didn't put up much of a fight back then either, did you?"

She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to scream but he put his hand on her mouth, which stifled her cry for help to a pathetic whimper.

"Why do you make me do this? Why do you insist on making me mad?"

She could see the thin veneer of his sanity cracking beyond repair, but all she could do was to stay still in hopes he would let go of her. Unable to hold back the tears anymore, she let them flow freely.

"Mary..." 

He removed his hand from her mouth and wiped her cheek. The gesture that was possibly meant to soothe her made her stomach lurch.

"I won't scream, I promise," she cried.

"I know you won't," he said softly. "But you have to understand how angry you make me. You have to stop doing that. Promise?"

In his twisted mind she was sure it made perfect sense to him. He needed to spread his poison onto others, onto her, because he couldn't deal with it in himself.

"Promise," she echoed hollowly, afraid to continue. "But I don't know how."

"You should be nice to me. Show me how much you appreciate me." He glanced at her mouth before his eyes moved lower.

Trying to keep up with the rapidity of her emotions, it took everything in her power to not recoil from him. She had to remain still when his hand moved down from her face to her neck. 

What would wake her up from this nightmare?

"What do you want from me, Mark?" she asked even when it was perfectly clear what he wanted from her.

"I want you to kiss me."

He was between her and the door. If she kissed him, she might distract him enough to buy herself time to come up with an escape plan. Wordlessly, she gave him a small kiss with her lips tightly closed.

"You call that a kiss?" he mocked her before he went for another kiss, forcefully plunging his tongue into her mouth.

It was revolting, the feeling of nausea rising like black bile from the pit of her stomach. Every muscle in her body told her to push him away, but she was not in the position where she could get past him to the door. She didn't dare to scream with his hand still around her neck, roughly holding her still.

"See how great it can be when you play nice? I knew you loved it."

Their idea of love was very different - his version of it made her want to heave. She almost did when he tried to remove her pajamas. 

"Mark, I don't want to." She tried to push his hands away.

Devoid of light or hope on how to escape him, she wanted to beg him to stop. She couldn't be this person again, the one who let things happen to her.

"I'm doing this for you too, to put another baby in your belly to replace the one we lost in the accident. I know how much you love kids."

That made her stop the struggling. If the baby was a part of Mark's delusion, it was a very persistent one. 

She closed her eyes. 

Half a memory, a slight spark flashed in her mind, like vivifying warmth inside. She was in the courtroom with Mason, like a lawyer before a judge. She told him something when all of a sudden his face lit up like the sun had just appeared behind the grey clouds. Mason came running down from the judge's seat before he swept her into a tight hug. He knelt in front of her, and pressed his cheek against her stomach. He had been so happy.

Her mind went white with light. She had been pregnant. She had lost her baby.

Nobody had told her about her baby.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before she had to be above the rage, but now that she was in it - it felt good. Satisfying. It was terrible and it was good.

Mary felt rage flood over her when Mark was on top of her, trying to force her legs apart.

No.

She felt a flicker of light, no, a spark of fight ignited within her. Her baby. She had been a mother and nobody had told her. The cruelty of it changed something in her. She slowed down her breathing and opened her eyes to meet his, with the steel inside her hardening into something cold, harsh and unbending. She was too angry to be afraid anymore. A great calm washed over her when she saw Mark for what he was. 

He had no power over her. He could do nothing to her. He was nothing to her.

Inconsequential. Weak. Pathetic. 

Beneath her.

She was always afraid of the darker side of herself because she didn't know how to control it. She had tried to pray away the rage by hiding in the church, or pretending the emotion didn't touch her. And she had desperately tried to ignore the fury Mason had sparked in her ever since they had met. 

All her life she thought she had to be quiet, pliant and good to be worthy. To agree with everyone to be loved. Mason had changed that. Her rape had changed her.

Before she had to be above the rage, but now that she was in it - it felt good. Satisfying. It was terrible and it was good. 

She scanned around the room. All that she needed was a weapon and a strategically aimed blow to knock him out. Her Bible? Not heavy enough. The table lamp? Might do the trick. If only she could reach it...

She had to distract him, she had to fight. 

"Mark, you don't want to do this," she insisted, twisting on the bed, trying to wriggle herself free.

Instead of listening to her, he pushed her down on the bed and lifted the hem of her pajamas up to her waist. When he forced another kiss on her, she had her chance. She bit his lower lip so hard she could taste his blood. He let out a yelp, his face crumpling. When he pulled back, she swung her knee into his crotch with every ounce of force she had left in her body. 

He stared at her in utter shock, he couldn't believe what she had done. Neither could she. 

That's when she reached for the lamp on the nightstand. She closed her fingers around it and smashed it against his head. 

That did the trick.

She wasn't prepared for the blood that trickled down from his temple onto her, bloodying her hands as she tried to stop it staining her face. She pushed his limp body aside and stumbled away from the bed and towards the door, desperately trying to catch her breath. Her hands were shaking so violently she struggled with the knob for a second. When she managed to open the door, Mother Isabel was about to knock on it.

They stared at each other in shock.

"Good heavens, child, are you alright?" Mother Isabel was visibly shaken by the blood on her.

The nun looked past her and saw the unconscious, bloodied Mark on her bed. 

"I... I had to."

"Of course you did, Mary. Are you alright?" She held on to her arms.

She couldn’t response, so her friend opened her arms. She stepped into the embrace and let out a voiceless cry, her whole body shaking. Mother Isabel held her for a long time before pulling away.

"You might want to tidy up before we call the police," she advised softly.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she could barely recognize herself. No wonder Mother Isabel had been so shocked. With her eyes blazing and Mark’s blood spattered across her face, she looked like a warrior with a full war paint on, ready for a battle. Except, she had already won her war. She washed her face, cleaning away the last remnants of her ex-husband.

She should have probably felt sorry for Mark when the police took him away. She didn’t. With no fight left in him, he seemed defeated. Lost. Like she had been after the first time he had attacked her. 

After the police left, she sat silently with Mother Isabel in the garden where they watched the brightening dawn. 

"You're leaving us, aren't you?" Mother Isabel asked after a while.

A new world was opening up. It felt good and right, without the usual dread that lurked at the back of her mind. All she had to do was to take the first step.

"I think I should go home."

"Where is home, Mary?"

Where Mason was, she thought but couldn’t say.

"I think the mansion is my best bet at the moment."

That was where she would be safe. If there was one thing to be said about the Capwells, it was that they protected their own.

* * *

Mary didn’t know the courtroom could be this quiet when there was no audience. She didn’t realize justice could be served so efficiently, as she observed Julia’s masterful performance in front of the judge. It felt like they were talking about someone else’s case, not hers. She had been so sure she would be too ashamed to argue her case in court, but she wasn’t. What Mark had done to her wasn’t her shame anymore, only his. Facing it head on felt oddly liberating. 

“You’re doing fine, Mary. We’re nearly done here.” Julia sat next to her and patted her arm.

Mary wanted to say thank you but she had to swallow the painful lump in her throat. Instead, she wordlessly grabbed her hand and squeezed. She hoped to convey the gratitude she felt, because no words would ever be enough. From the tears glistening in Julia’s eyes, Mary knew she did. Julia had been godsent, arguing her case so convincingly, leaving Mark no other choice but to plead guilty. Not that there had been much doubt left after his latest attack. The court didn’t seem to take kindly to people forcing their way into a convent, even by ex-husbands. 

She glanced at the other side of the aisle, Mark staring blankly at something she couldn’t see - as if he wasn’t quite there. Maybe he wasn’t. There was something terribly broken about him, but she found it extremely difficult to feel sorry for him. She felt nothing for him anymore. The only thing she might have felt for him was a bond born out of grief, but she shared that with Mason instead of Mark. To her, the baby she lost had always been Mason’s. 

_Mason._

His absence from the court hurt her more than she cared to admit, but she had made no attempt to contact him before her case. Mason had already had his day in court with Mark, it was her turn now. It was her case after all, not his. She doubted Mason even knew what had happened, because she hadn’t heard a word from him. Complete radio silence. She knew her husband… no, her Mason well enough to know what it meant when he went off the grid. There was no reaching him in that state, and she wasn’t sure she was willing to even try. She wanted to hold on to the rage which had given her the strength to fight back. If she let it go, what would she have left? She would be weak again. Weak for him.

“Are you ready to go?” She heard C.C.’s voice behind her.

C.C. had been her constant support ever since he had welcomed her back with open arms. He had sat quietly in the court room with her every step of the way - always in her corner, never wavering. He and Sophia had taken her under their wing and treated her as one of their own daughters. She had never felt that connected even to her own flesh and blood. The only other person who had made her feel more cherished had been Mason, but she couldn’t let herself remember that right now. 

“It’s over?” She tried to absorb the question.

“Yes, Mary, it’s over. We won. Julia made sure Mark will never bother you again.”

Mary turned to Julia and wrapped her arms around her without even thinking. Surprised, it took Julia a few seconds to respond but she was quick to hug her back. 

“Thank you. Just… thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

“I think I do. And you’re welcome.”

Mary watched, dazed, when people left the courtroom, soon only her and C.C. left behind.

“It’s really over,” she murmured.

“Yes, sweetheart. Are you ready to go?”

She looked around the empty room. It was the same room where she had told Mason she was pregnant a lifetime ago. The contrast between before and now was like a kick in her stomach. The thought of her baby nearly knocked her off her feet. 

“C.C., I don’t think I can do this.” 

It was something of a relief to say it out loud. The terrible effort of appearing normal during the court case had taken its toll and she was ready to fall apart.

“Hush, it’s okay. It’s already done, it’s going to be okay.”

He let her weep in peace in his tight embrace. In his firm grip, something in her was released and she trembled uncontrollably as she cried. Her teeth chattered no matter how tight she clenched her jaw. The dark shadow Mark had cast over her was finally beginning to dissolve, but she doubted the memory of her baby would go away anytime soon.

How was she supposed to go on?

“What am I supposed to do now?”

"You’re supposed move in with us, settle in for good. You wouldn't go back to Mason, would you? Not when you have a whole house full of people who need you. I need you."

Did Mason need her too? Not that she would ever ask, she had her pride at least.

“I don’t think I could go back to Mason, not yet. Not after what he did.”

“I’d understand if you never did. With him you always need a cool head and even cooler heart."

Never was a really long time. The rest of her life without Mason? She had been too preoccupied to just make it to the next day during her trial. She had given herself no time to think about her future. Not before her past with Mark had been settled. But now… 

“It’s too soon to think that far. I’ve only been free of Mark for the past five minutes.”

"I know you and your tender heart. Don't let Mason abuse your trust ever again. You’re moving in with us, it’s settled."

She had no fight left to argue with him, not that she was determined to do so. At least she wouldn’t have to be alone.   
  


* * *

Mary took in C.C.’s words as they sat in his study, enjoying their lunch. The last time she had sat on this couch, she had been with Mason. A lifetime ago.

"You can't be serious? New York, me? I wouldn’t know what to do with myself," she murmured, rubbing the pearl hanging from her necklace.

“You’d be helping me.”

“Seriously, C.C. you have hundreds of people more qualified to assist you on your business trip.”

"You have something no amount of money can buy - loyalty. I can trust you. Do you understand how rare that is for me?”

“C.C., you’re giving me too much credit.”

“Nonsense, you’re being too modest. As far as I’m concerned, you're family.” 

"Legally, I'm not-" She was struck by his words.

"You're family in every way that counts, whether you're married to Mason or not. He has nothing to do with this. You saved _my_ life," he insisted, his voice full of conviction. “What do you think? Would you be willing to accompany me on my business trip? Get a break from your past, away from… from everything."

“He’s not gonna like it.”

“Do you care what Mason likes or doesn’t like? Still?”

“I think I owe him a good bye, at least.”

“You don’t owe him anything after what he did to you.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Mason had tried to protect her, in the worst way possible.

“Mary, I can see what you’re doing. You’re stalling.” 

“I’m not,” she insisted. “Besides, I would have thought you two had patched things up after what happened to me.”

“Believe me, I tried, but he shut me out. I was still allowed to visit you in the hospital when you were unconscious, he accepted my support then. We sat many nights beside your bed. We even talked about forgiveness. But after you woke up, that was all forgotten. You were practically off limits. He became the Mason he has always been, manipulative and selfish. He wanted you all to himself, convinced I’d come between you two.”

“I wonder what gave him that idea,” she muttered, more to herself than him.

“You’re siding with him? Is it because you’re still angry that I meddled in your affairs before?”

“No, because I’ve never blamed you for looking after my best interest. It’s just… knowing what I know now, both about Mark and Mason, marrying Mark was the worst mistake of my life. But that was my decision, not yours.”

“Do you blame me for your miscarriage?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Had I not intervened-”

“No, it wasn’t your fault. You sound a lot like your son. It wasn’t his fault either.”

“He shouldn’t have forced you to prosecute Mark.”

“He went about it the wrong way, I can give you that much.”

“But?”

“But having dealt with him in the court of law, demanding Mark to face up for what he did to me… Mason was right. I do feel better. I can finally put Mark behind me for good.”

“Mark will never bother you again, if I have anything to say about it. I’m glad that you’re feeling better.”

“But?”

“But I know you, sweetheart, you’re looking for a way to forgive Mason. You need to be honest with yourself. And if you can be that, how can you honestly forgive him? He failed you.”

“He lied to me, yes, but he was only trying to protect me.”

Why was she so eager to come up with excuses for Mason? What had changed? Was it the trial, the relief of being free? Or was it the constant ache in her chest - the cord between them she couldn’t break, the one that kept pulling her back to him no matter where she was? 

“Somebody should protect you from Mason.”

“I can’t put everything on him, now that I remember what we had. The things we have gone through - in a way, I feel more connected to him than ever.”

She was no longer bound by the hurt from Mason’s betrayal. Stung by it, but not captivated.

“But not separated by his lie? He lied to you about who you really are. I don’t see forgiveness there.”

C.C. rarely did where his son was concerned.

“What we lost…” She took a long, shuddering breath. “He lived with it all this time. I understand why he tried to protect me from this, it hurts too much.”

“Life hurts, it always does. He should have trusted you.”

“Trust has never been easy between us. Not with me.”

“For a good reason! I don’t understand how he can be so incredibly stupid with you.”

She smiled when she remembered Mother Isabel’s words. Mason had always been profoundly stupid with her, there was no getting around that.

“He doesn’t always think straight.”

“I’ll say! Like I said before, I can guide you through the darkness. You can’t go back to him, he’ll pull you back into it.” 

“But it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t all darkness. There was light in there too, with him. I felt it. We had something real. We had love.”

"I know he loves you but is it enough? Can you ever forgive him knowing how he deceived you?"

She had plenty of practice with that when it came to Mason. She had already forgiven him so much. And yet, no matter how angry she was with him, she finally understood why he had done it. It hurt too much. He didn’t want her to hurt. 

She watched C.C., his bitterness towards his son clear as day. C.C. couldn’t forgive him. Was it worth it? Was it worth the hate, the pointless resentment? She knew what that hate did to herself, that inability to forgive. It had been the reason why she had run to Mark in the first place, because she couldn’t quiet down her vindictive streak. She hadn’t been able to find it in her heart to forgive Mason until it was way too late and they had lost everything.

“Maybe everything worked out for the best,” C.C. started tentatively.

“Do you mean Mark?”

“Him too, because you’re finally free of him. But I meant Mason.”

“I fail to see the good here: we lost our baby and we’re both miserable. No offense.”

“None taken, I know you’re still reeling after Mark.” He cleared his throat. “But do you honestly think Mason is fit to be a father? I know my son, he can barely take care of himself.” 

A surge of protectiveness shot through her. 

“How can you ask that? You didn’t see him when he found out about our baby. You didn’t see him take care of me when I had nothing, not even my memories. Any child would be lucky have him as their father.”

“You sound awfully forgiving.”

“And you sound awfully vindictive.” She inhaled, trying to calm down. “C.C., I don’t want to offend you, but you don’t know him like I do. There’s so much goodness in him, when he’s given the chance.” 

“You think I never gave him a chance? I did nothing but give him chance after chance, and look where I ended up - in a hospital. Like you. You’re too close to this, you’re not seeing clearly. That’s why you should come with me to New York, to get some perspective.”

A part of her agreed, because a change of perspective might jolt her out of her memories. The memory of them in this room, of Mason, was suddenly so vivid and bright. 

_Say my name that way again._

_Mason._

She could still remember his touch on her skin when he had given her the pearl necklace. 

“I don’t know, C.C., New York is awfully far away.” 

How it pained her to remember. Would it hurt less if she had some distance?

“From him, you mean?”

“Yes.” She twirled her necklace between her fingers.

“You need to let go. He’s only going to hurt you all over again. That’s why he has lost you so many times. When are you going to learn that he’s not going to change? He can’t.”

But he had, she had seen it.

“You can’t expect me to never see him again, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“It’s not. He’s my son, of course you’ll see him again. But you need to be strong when you do, you can’t let yourself love him again. Just let him go.”

His words chilled her to the bone, because she could hear the poisonous, bitter resentment of someone who couldn't forgive. Someone like her.

Mason had betrayed her, again, there was no point denying it. She didn’t understand how she could fully forgive him that. After everything they had gone through, he would still… How could she ever accept that part of his personality, the part that would have his way no matter what the cost, even on her expense? Would he ever learn his lesson, if he already hadn’t? Or could she live with that, accept him for who he was, just because she loved him so much? 

Her head hurt, she couldn’t think straight.

Maybe she would be better off with some distance? New York wasn’t on the other side of the world, after all. It wouldn’t be forever. If she took the opportunity C.C. was offering, she might be strong enough to face Mason again. 

_Mason_.

Her mind run away with him again. Her heart clenched, as if a string was pulling it. She could feel him, painfully so, as if he was there right beside her. As if he was in a terrible agony and all alone. Was he in pain, or did she mistake her own ache for his? 

Would New York be far enough to make this pain stop?

“C.C., maybe you’re right, maybe I should-”

The phone rang.

“Hold that thought, if you please.” C.C. went to the phone and picked it up, annoyed. “What is it?”

She stopped to look at the subtle change in his demeanor, when he stared at her with trouble in his eyes. His face turned white as a sheet. Bad news. She stared at him when he quietly put the receiver back down.

“C.C., what is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mason. He’s in a hospital.”

All her doubts evaporated and the questions were answered in that moment. How simple. It was so clear what she had to do, where she had to be.

“Mary, you shouldn’t-”

“Try and stop me.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was on the rooftop again, reliving her accident. She wrapped him in a tight embrace, trying to ground him to the present.

Next of kin. 

Mason had marked her down as his next of kin in case of an emergency. Not his family, his own blood, but her.

Mary sat in the waiting room of the emergency room, anxious to hear from the doctor what had happened. He had been drunk and hurt himself, but she didn't know how badly. Badly enough to be taken in to a hospital.

It was a concussion. 

She was relieved and worried. While not life threatening, Mason definitely needed to be cared for when he got out of the hospital. The only way the hospital would release him was if he had someone to look after him. She had a pretty good idea who that someone was going to be. 

She stopped at the doorway of his room, taking the sight in. The light that peeked between the Venetian blinds made the room look like a cage made of sunrays, with its lonely inmate sitting in the middle of it. This wasn't her Mason, this was someone else. This one was a mess with his gaunt, unshaven face and messed up hair. With a nasty wound over his temple and some cuts on his face, he looked like he had been in a fight and lost. Like somebody had knocked the life out of him. He had always appeared larger than life to her, but with the burden of his desolation weighing him down, he came off as diminished and broken. As if somebody had taken his light away.

She didn't want to feel compassion in the midst of perfectly reasonable indignation but she couldn't help it. There was no satisfaction in seeing him like this, no matter how betrayed she might have felt. He hurt, she hurt. It was as simple as that.

He was awake and aware she was there, but the words that came out of his mouth barely made sense. Inside his mind, he was in a different time. She didn't know how to reach to him in his hopeless stupor.

"Mason?" She sat on the bed. "Mason?"

"You're here! Y-you... you're okay? You're not hurt?"

He was on the rooftop again, reliving her accident. She wrapped him in a tight embrace, trying to ground him to the present. He froze, still confused. It took him few seconds before he hugged her back.

"No, I'm fine," she assured as she let go of him. "It looks like you might be less so, the doctor said you fell and hit your head. Concussion." 

When she softly brushed his temple, he struggled to focus. She cupped his chin and forced him to look at her straight in the eyes. His eyes locked in with hers, finding the still center of the chaotic storm sweeping his mind.

He took her hand between both of his: "You're here. You're really here. I thought..."

"It's okay, Mason, I survived the accident. I'm okay. You took care of me, remember?"

He had to remember what had happened. Even God couldn't have a sense of humor dark enough to give him amnesia.

"I... yeah, I just got disoriented for a second. The medication isn't helping."

"Yeah, I remember. It muddles everything." 

That word again. Remember. How could such a small word change everything?

"Why are you here? Why do you care?" He dropped her hand.

He must've found his focus because this was the Mason she remembered, always spoiling for a fight.

"Because I care about you, Mason."

"Well, you've fulfilled your charitable duty, sister. As you can see, I'm perfectly fine."

"Yeah, I can see you're a picture of health, Mason," she responded wryly.

"You don't need to be here." He bristled. 

He was frustrated by having lost the control of the situation, she was frustrated by having to struggle between sympathy and disdain she had for him.

"Maybe not, but you need me. The only way they'll let you out of here is if you have someone to take care of you for few days. Were you planning on staying with your dad? I bet you'd love to live under his watchful eye."

All color drained from his face. She had to bite her lip to not smile at his horrified expression. 

"Mason, what happened?"

"I fell down and knocked my head. There's not much of a story there." He looked down, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Were you drinking?"

"More or less." His tone was as evasive as his eyes. 

She assumed it was more, a lot more. 

He tried to build another wall between them, but apparently didn't understand she could see right through it. She had her memory back, she knew who he was - a man who loved well if not too wisely.

"There's something I need to tell you, Mason."

"About how I failed you? Yeah, I got the memo on that, thanks." He turned his head away from her.

Instead of taking the bait, she let her annoyance melt away. He had put his own well-being on hold for hers, and was still mentally stuck on that roof. In his mind, he was still failing her. She would have to tell him about Mark later.

"When are you going to let go of that anger of yours?"

"What?" He turned sharply back to her, his eyes narrowing.

At first his expression was incredulous before it twisted in to anger. There was nothing wrong with him and she was insane to suggest otherwise.

"When I first woke up in the hospital, you said you couldn't let go of your anger. How it almost crushed me to death." She took a deep breath. "It's still crushing you. When are you going to forgive yourself?"

"I'm not angry!" He flared up with such rancor his voice carried to the corridor. "I don't need to forgive myself, I need you to forgive me."

"Uh huh." She gave him her most serene nun-like smile just to annoy him.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're clearly as calm as can be and I was wrong," she said brightly.

"You're clearly enjoying this."

"You're not wrong."

"It's hard to believe you were a nun once upon a time, you're one of the most vindictive women I've ever met. You love to see me in pain, don't you?"

"It has its perks." She smiled.

He suddenly registered her playful demeanor.

"You're surprisingly calm after... after everything I did. Why aren't you angry with me?" 

"Is that what you need from me? My anger?" She looked down at him.

“No, I need-” He couldn’t continue.

"I know what you did, Mason, I remember." She looked at him straight in the eyes.

She let the word 'remember' hang between them, but he didn't seem to understand what she meant.

"Does it mean... " He seemed lost. "What does it mean?"

"Remember how I told you that until I remembered everything, I couldn't be with you?"

"That's the only thing I seem to be able to remember these days." He grimaced.

"Mason, I remember - everything."

* * *

Killing people was wrong.

Killing people was wrong.

Killing people was wrong.

 _She wanted to murder Mason._ He had pushed all of her buttons ever since he had been released from the hospital. She had been wrong, none of this had been simple. Returning to Mason hadn’t resolved any of her issues. She felt more conflicted than ever.

She wanted to tell him about Mark, but never found the right moment to start that conversation. Not with the pain of it still raw in her mind. Not with Mason being too busy to guilt trip her every chance he got. 

“You don’t have to burden yourself with taking care of me, you’re free to leave any time you want. I don’t need you to fix me,” he protested while she examined him.

“I know, I won’t, don’t worry. I’m here only to make sure you won’t fall and hurt yourself again. Have you always been this clumsy?”

She pulled off the inflatable blood pressure cuff from his arm, pleased to see the excellent result. 

“Well, aren’t you the perfect Florence Nightingale? There’s nothing to make a patient to feel better about himself than his nurse’s complete disregard for his wellbeing.” He shot her a look.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, you sound like it.” She examined his face, ignoring his intense glare.

He looked much better too, nothing like the broken man from the hospital. He had found his fighting spirit again, determined to challenge her every step of the way. 

She tapped the bruise on his temple lightly, making him grimace. She knew he was exaggerating the pain, the injury was too old to cause this much discomfort. But there was nothing Mason loved better than playing the wounded party. 

“As soon as you get tired of playing my nurse, you could always get thee to a nunnery. Oh, wait, you already did that! It’s what you always do when things get too real. You flee.”

Oh, there was nothing like Mason trying to downplay their painful past or his own part in it. He didn’t seem to understand she remembered _everything_. 

Even with all her training as a nun and a nurse, she was at the end of her rope. Even after having dealt with many difficult patients, Mason was in a league of his own. Knowing he was too proud to ask for help from anyone and would have been all alone without her, she had grit her teeth and pushed through. Her only ray of sunlight was the knowledge that her self-inflicted penalty was nearly over. 

“I’m almost done playing, Mason. Now, shut up and breathe slowly, I need to take your pulse.” She held two of her fingers on his wrist. “I won’t get your accurate measurements if you’re all worked up.”

“I’m not worked up, I’m perfectly calm.”

His pulse suggested otherwise, but she wasn’t sure was it because he was angry or because of her touch, when his eyes became preoccupied with her fingers. His mind seemed to escape elsewhere alongside with his pulse. Only Mason would consider arguing as a form of foreplay. 

“Uh huh, I’m sure you are.” She couldn’t fully suppress her smile. “Breathe, Mason. In and out, slow and steady.”

His hand brushed her thigh as he leaned closer. His face almost touched her hair when he breathed in and took several slow, steady breaths. She waited for his breathing to even out, with every cell in her body aware of his closeness. He was close enough for her to rest her head against his shoulder, if she just-

She needed to focus.

Perfect resting heart rate. As proven by his sharp mind and even sharper tongue, his cognitive functions were top notch as well. There were no problems with his vision or balance. Apart from the barely visible bruises on his face, he was in top physical condition. He was well enough to manage on his own. 

She was finally free.

“Wonderful, Mason. We’re all done here, you can open your eyes now.”

He blinked, perplexed, as he came back from wherever his mind had wondered. Not that it was difficult to guess where that was.

“That’s it? You don’t want to test me some more? Full body examination, perhaps?”

“No need.” She smiled despite herself as she started to collect her things. “You’re in excellent health.”

“I have the perfect nurse,” he admitted benevolently, “even Florence Nightingale has nothing on her.”

It was the first nice thing he had said to her since he was discharged from the hospital. After having dealt with his constant digs, she had almost forgotten that tender side of him. 

“Thanks, Mason.” She glanced over her shoulder before going to the guest room.

“What are you doing?” He stood in the middle of the living room, stunned, as she reemerged with her bag packed. "Are you leaving me again?" 

"You don't need me anymore, Mason, you're well enough to survive on your own. You knew this was only going to last for few days."

"I..." He looked stumped, his mouth open.

"You still need to take it easy, even with your clean bill of health. Remember you had a concussion." She made a conscious effort to use her most sympathetic nurse-voice with her least sympathetic patient.

"So, you're leaving me," he grumbled. "I guess that's what you do best."

"Bye, Mason." She steeled herself against his attack, refusing to let him get under her skin.

"I... I don't think I feel too well."

To his credit his face did look a little grey, but she knew it had nothing to do with his health.

"You'll survive."

"That's it? After everything I did for you? You already cursed me into a prison with no other company than my own thoughts, and now you’re going to throw away the key? That's a fate worse than death."

"After everything you did for me?" She felt her temper rising but forced her tone to be neutral.

He hadn’t told her about the baby she had lost. That's what he had done for her.

"Yeah, I took care of you."

"That you did, Mason, and I've been meaning to thank you for that. Thank you for taking care of me after I lost everything." She meant every word.

“What does your gratitude mean if you’re not going to stay?”

“Obviously not that much to you, but it’s all I have.” 

“ _You_ ’re all I have, you're the only reason anything means anything, the hell with your gratitude. I need you to be with me, to love me. I don’t know how much more proof you need to understand that I can’t cope that well without you, if at all.” He pointed at his face.

“So you need me to fix you? It doesn’t work like that, Mason. You can’t be my patient any more than I can be yours. We need to be equals for there to be any hope for our relationship.”

“Is there any hope for us?” He stepped closer. “There has to be, or you wouldn’t have come back to me.”

“Somebody had to take care of you. I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t have accepted help from anyone else. Don’t read too much into this, I’m not back.”

"Tell me you don’t love me anymore." He was now inches away from her. “This time you don’t get to hide behind your amnesia.”

"I wasn’t hiding, I was…” She groaned, unable to admit she had been afraid. “Mason, let's not do this now."

"Say it," he demanded. “Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll let you walk out of that door.”

"I..." She couldn't force the words out, no matter how frustrated she was.

"You can't say it, because you know you do. _I_ know it even when you can't say it, with or without your memories. I’ve always known it."

He was still desperately trying to cling to things out of his control.

"What does any of it mean if I can't trust you?"

That took the wind out his sails for a hot second, but instead of answering, he charged from another direction.

"You know how much my dad hates me, why would you go to him of all people after you left the convent, and not return to me? Did you do it to spite me, to punish me? Because it worked."

"No, I went to him because your dad doesn't pretend to be someone else. I trust him. I need to trust the people in my life."

"I didn't want to deceive you, but it was better you didn’t know. Had I told you about our marriage, I would have had to tell you about Mark. It would have been too traumatic. I did it for your own good."

"What marriage? You've told that lie so many times you thought it came true. It didn't. I’m not your wife, Mason, you lied to me!” She stopped when he flinched. “And you made me feel like I was crazy when my memory was firing all over the place, making me doubt whether any of them were real. How was that for my own good?"

"That didn't... I didn't mean to."

"Besides, you can't protect me from Mark."

"I already did. I made sure he would never bother you again."

"Yeah, he told me what you did when he paid a visit to the convent."

"He did what?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The illusion was broken. It was the most honest thing he had said since the hospital. He had wanted to paint a blissful past, to create happy memories for them to replace the painful ones.

"Mark came to see me at the convent."

"He did what?" Mason repeated, his mouth open.

Before Mary could answer, she was in a hug so tight it took her breath away for a second. Instead of complaining about the discomfort, she wrapped her arms around him as tight as she could, inhaling the scent of his aftershave. Just as she remembered. Home. With him, she could breathe easier again. 

"Did he hurt you?" He loosened his grip and took her face between his hands, like he was trying to examine her for any injuries. 

Not that Mason would find any, the only scars Mark left this time were the mental kind.

"He tried." Her voice wasn't as controlled as she would have liked.

His face changed and she shuddered. She remembered this man, the one that could single-mindedly destroy his enemy no matter what the cost. No matter that she had to pay the price for his vindictiveness. All the things he had threatened to do to Mark before her accident, he had done during the annulment case when she had been clueless with her amnesia. Without her permission, behind her back, with no remorse. 

"My only regret is that I didn't have him killed for what he did to you,” he stated, his eyes burning with the same unholy zeal from before. “Well, there’s no time like the present.”

“Mason, don’t say that, please! You’re not this person.”

“What person is that? I was the one who was supposed to protect you. Twice, I’ve failed. Third time’s the charm, isn’t that what they say?”

“I say you need to calm down. It’s okay, Mason, it’s all over. Your dad arranged him to be locked up and made sure to keep him there. Julia handled my case. She made sure Mark will never bother me again. Thanks to her, I’m free."

Mason had been so sure of himself, but now seemed completely at a loss. He had trouble understanding he had no control over the situation - or her, for that matter.

“But I won the case,” he tried to make sense of her words. 

“I know, Mark told me before he attacked me. You destroyed him utterly, as you threatened you would. What was it you said before… he had to be made to pay, to the fullest extent? Well, you succeeded, he had nothing, neither his medical license nor his sanity. And men with nothing to lose, they make sure somebody has to pay. Like me.”

“I made sure that he wouldn’t get anywhere near you.”

“Turns out he found a loophole in the convent. You might have been, uh, preoccupied with other things while I was gone.” She glanced at his old wounds.

“He had to pay what he did to you, to us.” 

“The rape was all mine, thanks. You don’t get to claim that.”

“Don’t I? You say you remember, but you act as if I don’t remember how it affected you. You were sick inside, so hurt. When you hurt, I hurt.”

She understood him better than she wanted to, because she felt the same. Her heart ached every time he was in pain.

“You got your revenge, and I hope it gave you everything you needed. I got more than I bargained for.”

There was a slip in the mask, his eyes brimming with hurt, his mouth trying to form words. 

"Are you hurt, now? Did he…"

She told him, disjointedly, what had happened. She couldn't tell him everything. She didn’t have the words to convey what it meant to her to remember the baby she had lost.

"I survived," she concluded, reluctant to dwell on the attack any more than she had to. 

“You did, didn’t you?” He observed her in wonderment.

“Because I remembered everything.” Her voice hardened.

"You remember…?" 

"My baby? Yeah, you forgot to mention him.”

“No, I could never forget, I just couldn’t bring myself to...”

“Yeah.”

“Put yourself in my shoes. What would you have done?"

The mask was gone and she could see the vulnerable man behind. The sad thing was, she understood him. It was the trust she struggled with.

"I would have told you about our baby. Can't you see what you took from me?" 

He flinched. Her words were like a slap in his face. 

"You said _our_ baby," he whispered, more to himself than her.

"I... yes, I always thought of him as ours."

"Me too."

Both fell quiet over their irretrievable loss. A part of themselves and of their hopes was no longer counted among the living.

"You had no right to hide that from me."

"I know." 

"Clearly you don't."

"I couldn't bear for you to look at me the way you do now. I hated myself for how I lied to you." 

"Not enough to tell me the truth," she said, unmoved.

"The truth could have made it worse for you. The doctor said-"

"Yes, doctor's orders, I get it. You hid behind them often enough."

"That's not fair. Once I was in, I couldn't get out. The guilt of lying to you was unbearable, but losing you would have been so much worse. I couldn't handle it. _Can't_ handle it." 

He looked at her with so much love she had to close her eyes.

"I thought I was going mad because of you. How was that fair? You saw how I tried to remember and yet you said nothing? Or lied about the memories I did have - let alone about our marriage."

"Everything I did was to protect you, Mary." 

"Or to protect yourself." She opened her eyes and shot him a look.

"I..." He hesitated. "Had I told you the truth from the start, would you have chosen me? Us?”

She would have. Possibly. Maybe. 

She didn’t want to see it from his point of view, but couldn’t help it. Everything was a maybe with her. How do you build a life on that? How do you share a life with somebody who was always running away?

“I don’t know,” she answered as honestly as she could.

“If I had told you, I would have had to deal with it too. Remember what had happened. Remember what we had lost."

"You thought that if you locked my memories away, they would stay hidden? You thought you could hide the memory of my baby from me?"

"I didn't mean it to go that far, I wanted to tell you. But every time I was close to you I could forget the pain for a little while, and live the life I always dreamed of having with you. A normal, happy, married life."

"But that wasn't real. I need my life to be real, I need to be real before either one of us can be happy. I can't be what you made me."

There were tears in his eyes. 

"It's not like that, I didn't try to make you into anything else than you were. I only took away the pain you would've felt had you known the truth. _I_ knew what happened. I knew what we lost and it killed me every day." He looked down. "I felt like I lost myself too." 

The illusion was broken. It was the most honest thing he had said since the hospital. He had wanted to paint a blissful past, to create happy memories for them to replace the painful ones.

"But we need the pain to remind us who we were, who we are. Even with the agony of knowing what we lost, it's better I know. You can't protect me from life, and life comes with pain."

"I get it. Honestly, I do," he spoke too fast.

"Do you?" 

He might have honestly wanted to, but she wasn't sure he actually understood it. His only focus was to get her back.

“I won’t lie to you again. I’ll never hurt you again if you can forgive me.”

“See, that’s the problem. The question isn’t if I can forgive you, the question is can you forgive yourself. And don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“You keep saying that, but you’re wrong. It doesn’t matter what I think. Had I listened to you, done what you begged me to do, you wouldn’t have ended up in a hospital, you wouldn’t have lost everything. How could you forgive me for that? How could I?”

“Unless you were the one who loosened the screws on that massive C-sign, unless it was you who made it wind that night… It was out of your control, it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t put me in the hospital. If you want to apologize for how you twisted my arm to prosecute Mark, well, go right ahead. But I need you to understand how much your need for revenge hurt me. Considering what that night cost to us, considering what Mark tried to do to me again… I assume you do.”

“I do,” he said in a small voice. “I’m so sorry.”

He looked like a man in a boxing ring who had just suffered the finishing blow, ready to fall. Quick to catch him, she wrapped her arms around him.

“It’s okay, Mason, I know you are. I forgive you.”

She could finally help him with his grief. She held him because that was all she could do, while he held on to her with his dear life. The dam broke, everything he had held in broke out. His cries made no sound, but she felt his whole body shuddering from the pain he had denied himself for so long. Like a prayer, he repeated how sorry he was, but she had already forgiven him. 

“I never meant to hurt you.” His voice was muffled by her hair.

“I know, it’s already forgiven. Now, can you finally forgive yourself?”

He didn’t response, but he didn't have to hold on so tightly anymore. He didn’t cling to her as if his life depended on it. Gradually, he let go of her, his face still strained by tears. 

"What happens now?" He didn't dare to hope anything.

"Before there's any hope for us, there's somewhere we need to go."

"Where's that?" He brightened at the mention of hope.

"Where it all began."

* * *

Before stepping on the roof she hesitated for a second at the doorway. She remembered the pain and the hate, the truth of it all. And it didn't destroy her. After everything, she was still standing. She took a step further on to the roof. She was finally in control of her own fate, ready for any obstacle thrown in her way. She would protect him too if he needed her to.

Mason stood behind her, frozen, unable to move. 

"You don't have to be strong all the time. You're here with me, I'm here for you. Let me be strong for you for a change," she assured him as she took his hand.

Her touch was enough of a reassurance for him to finally follow her to the mess of a roof. It was still under construction. He looked at the wreckage with a faraway look in his eyes.

“What a mess,” he said flatly.

“Yeah, I think it’s time to get this cleaned. Could you talk to your dad about that? He won’t listen to me.”

“That’s a first, he always listens to you. If you can’t get through to him, why do you think I’d do any better?”

“It’s not my permission he needs. He has been waiting…” She tries to say it right. “He needs to hear it from you, he needs _your_ forgiveness.”

“I don’t think I can-”

 _“Mason.”_ She shot him a glance. “It’s time to forgive, don’t you think? For all of us.”

“Yes, ma’am.” A small smile played on his lips but his eyes were earnest.

“That was easy. If you always did as I told you, our lives would be so much simpler.” She grinned.

“There’s one way you could make it happen. Marry me, and I’m yours.”

The lightness she felt vanished. His betrayal still stung.

“I don’t think I can-”

 _“Mary.”_ His face clouded. “You forgave me, you said so.” 

“I did. And I understand why you lied about the marriage, but-”

"You trusted me, didn't you?" It wasn't a question.

"With my life," she replied calmly.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth. I'm sorry how I lied, how I made you feel."

She knew he meant every word, because he didn’t try to justify his actions in any way. He faced them head on. She touched his face tenderly and he closed his eyes, relishing in her touch.

"I know, Mason. You did your best, that's enough." 

“But not enough for you to marry me.” He opened his eyes and kissed her palm. “What will it take for you to trust me again?”

“One day at a time. I know you mean well, Mason, and you want to do the right thing, but…”

“But you need proof?”

“I need actions, not words. And you need to trust that I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?" 

"Promise."

“Will you at least accept back your ring? The sentiment behind it was true, even if it wasn’t legally binding. I’ve always belonged to you.”

She stared at the ring, the memory of his proposal before her amnesia flooding her mind. How he had kneeled in front of her, how earnestly he had asked her to be his wife.

Even after everything, it was still the perfect reminder of his love for her. It still brought her comfort.

“I do.” She raised her eyes to meet his. 

She said it with the same reverence as she would in front of a priest. She knew she would make the same vow eventually in a church in front of their loved ones, but this moment was theirs alone.

“With this ring, I…” He couldn’t finish, overcome with emotion when he put the ring on her finger.

The ring fit perfectly. She entwined her fingers with his, aware she might burst into tears from the same emotion that rendered him speechless.

"You were right, by the way,” she managed to say after a while. 

“I was?” He found his voice again. “I was, naturally, I usually am. What was I right about this time?”

“About how I love you. With or without my memories." 

"About damn time you admitted it." He tried to sound stern but there was lightness in his voice she hadn't heard in a long time. “I love you too, in case you forgot.”

“Not a chance.”

She glanced at the scintillating stars above, her disorder cleaned up, everything so clear now. They were going to be okay. 

It was time to go home.


End file.
